Becoming Phantom
by Eykiel
Summary: Everyone knew the Master Thief Phantom... but only a few knew the man behind the name. - (AU, history of Phantom)
1. The coward

Wow look I'm back two weeks before finals with a 40k+ word fic AMAZING PRIORITIES

Anyway, here's my take on Phantom's backstory! It's by no means canon (clearly), and it contains some OCs made to fill some roles.

I've shamelessly gone and referenced my other fic, 'Becoming Freud'. Just a little bit. :') Freud the monk is referenced a couple of times.

Tried my best to fit with whatever is known about Phantom, but some things just don't add up correctly. So I've tried my best to smooth over the weird edges as well as it'll go. Hopefully it'll turn out okay. Just emphasizing that you're free to have your own interpretation on Phantom's backstory! I'm just offering my take on him ;)

Thanks for stopping by! Enjoy the read.

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In the sweltering heat of the desert sun, Crowley watched a boy get beaten to death.

Such occurrences were not uncommon; many a time word spread far and fast about boys who went down to the Lower Districts and returned with spoils of splintered bone or cracked teeth separated from their owners. It was a tradition, they said. One that began when the desert gave up its secret of deep violet treasure stashed around a glittering oasis.

It was another unspoken secret that nobody would ever return with bruises. White skin should remain unmarred, for the only blood to be spilled was on cracked muddy roads away from paved marble roads. And if anyone so dared to return home with a scratch or a chipped fingernail, all it took was a word to the Duke and something would restore the balance of the town to what it should be. The Princess would always be more than happy to oblige, and Crowley often watched her clink heavy goblets with his father, promising a peaceful era to lure investors that even gave the despairing town a glance.

Crowley had long learned his place in the Lucre family. The ideal son was a silent one. He held his tongue and kept wayward thoughts of unfairness at bay. He spoke only when spoken to, and bowed his head when the Duke walked by. In a family who ruled with gold and with violence, Crowley's place was behind the entrepreneurial decisions of his father, or on his knees at his father's feet as he pleaded mercy from the cane or belt.

Which was why, when bullies had dragged Crowley out of the safety of his home and to the Lower end, he nearly passed out long before they had even found a target to assault. He knew what kind of treatment would await him at home if a word of this were to escape.

The boy was more dirt than flesh, bones straining at the joints of his form like pencils pushing against skin. Merciless blows from heavy boots printed dark welts that showed up clearly even against his olive skin. Crowley watched it all from the middle of the throng, unable to run as the bullies jeered and howled and beat down on the struggling body.

He was frozen, unable to move, so stricken with terror that he could barely remain standing. The leader, Jack, had one firm hand on his shoulder and was pushing him forward, snarling into his ear, "You're the Duke's son aren't you, don't be such a coward! Kick him!"

Everything smelled like dust and sweat and blood, and Crowley feared he would empty his stomach once he even uttered a reply. The boy was sobbing now, begging in clipped Nihalian, pitiful sounds that wrung Crowley's heart to shreds. Once or twice the child tried to squirm between the legs of the taller boys, someone would be ready to pull him back and reprimand him accordingly.

Animals. He was watching a circle of predators descending on hapless prey.

For a split second, Crowley met the boy's eyes, and he realized that it was the look of someone who knew he was going to die.

"Stop!"

He only realized that he had been the one to cry out when the beating stopped and the boy slumped to the ground and stopped moving.

"Well I never," said Jack in pleasant surprise. "Did I hear correctly?"

"Sto…" What had he done? They were all looking at him, the disbelief on their faces turning quickly to a new bloodlust. He tried to take a step back, but Jack grabbed his wrist.

"You would defend this piece of shit from us?"

He didn't see it, but recognized the deep burn of pain across his cheek his father had forced him to become well acquainted with. Jack's blow smashed him into the ground and he landed sprawling in the dirt, coughing. He tasted bile at the back of his throat, and felt the telltale burn of skin split open, and cried out when his hand disappeared under the heel of Jack's heavy boot and remained trapped there.

"Just because you're the Duke's son does not mean you are exempt from the laws of this city, Crowley." Jack squatted beside him and watched as he tried vainly to pull his hand free. "I hate when people tell me 'No'. And I hate it even more when it's you, cowardly little rat."

Crowley yanked his hand to him once Jack let go. He was shaking. Each bout of pain, while not unfamiliar, always felt so unbearable and Crowley could never manage to take it within his stride, he could barely hear Jack over the sound of blood ringing in his ears.

And still despite this, what terrified him more was not the pain, but what his father would do once he came home. Jack, seemingly understanding this trade-off, grinned wider and ran a hand through platinum blond hair.

"Say, Crowley. You know what, this time I'll be kind and let you off."

With a smirk his hand snaked forward and yanked Crowley up by the neck. His feet scrabbled vainly against the sand, and the yelp that Crowley let out was so pitiful that the bullies burst out into laughter. Crowley felt his cheeks burn even though he was gasping for air, his own fingers weakly clutching at Jack's hand. Jack reached out and patted Crowley's face roughly, and when he felt the throb of pain pulsing through his entire cheek, he realised with a sickening twist of his gut that it would turn ugly and purple if he didn't get ice on it right away.

"Yeah, you're smart. Smarter than the Duke thinks you are. You understand, right? If you dare rat on me when he asks, I'll turn on the full waterworks and your dad will destroy this place completely. So I _dare_ you." Jack leered, letting Crowley fall to the ground where he lay, hoping they would just go away and leave him alone. "Yeah, not so brave now are you? Huh? Demanding _me_ to show mercy to these _dogs_?" He spat at the unmoving body. "Fat hope!"

And with that, Jack waved his bullies behind him and led them home, their voices quickly fading and getting lost amongst the mud houses.

With a whimper, Crowley pushed himself to his arms, and then to his knees. Everything hurt, but at least he didn't have any bones broken.

The boy, on the other hand…

"H… Hello?" Crowley whispered.

No response. Crowley yelped as a vulture landed on the ground beside the boy, and looked up to find two more of those misshapen birds circling, waiting for their chance.

The bird took a lumbering step forward, and Crowley rose to his feet, tears of frustration and panic pricking at the sides of his eyes. Useless, so useless. Someone being killed before his eyes and he couldn't do a thing about it. When would he ever take a stand for himself? Was he going to spend the rest of his life afraid?

"Get out!" he screamed at the bird, grabbing a stone and hurling it with all his might. Pain flared wherever he strained his injuries but he drove the feeling into the corner where years and years of angry helplessness had nursed itself into something Crowley didn't want to know the shape of. "Get lost! You bloody… bloody monster!"

The vulture let out a bored squawk, seeming to assess him with its beady eyes, before it decided that Crowley wasn't worth the trouble and took to the air. Crowley watched it go, followed quickly by the other two.

He knew that his own injuries _needed_ to be tended to, but he couldn't simply… leave the boy… Even if he was terrified, he didn't want to make the wrong decision when a life was on the line.

So now what? He had a _body_ in front of him. Crowley hadn't the slightest clue what to do with bodies, or what anyone else did with them. What if he touched it? Would he get into trouble — no, _more_ trouble than already was in?

And… and besides. There was no way he could bring him to any of the local physicians. Word would spread too fast and the Duke would teach him a lesson before he could even formulate an excuse for his behaviour.

Just a quick detour. He'd try to bring the boy home, and then he'd go. No more than that.

He glanced around, making sure none of the bullies were still around, before carefully whispering, "Hello? Are… are you okay?"

Of course he wasn't okay. What was Crowley thinking? The form still hadn't moved and there were several flies crawling against the thin sinews of his calves. He didn't even know if the boy could understand him. Or even hear him at all.

Was he really dead?

Crowley was about to call out again when the body let out a watery groan. Then he had to bite back a yelp of fright as the boy visibly forced his body into motion, a broken mess of sandy limbs that could barely coordinate or tell up from down.

There was a smattering of Nihalian as the boy patted himself down, wincing at a particularly matted patch on his ribs.

"What you want," the boy said, his voice rough and weathered like sands ground against old rock. Crowley was about to respond, he just wasn't used to such a grating voice coming from a young boy, after all — but the boy cut him off with a glare.

Deep purple eyes, like the core of a lithium crystal, stared back at him and laid him bare.

The boy struggled to his feet and Crowley hurried over to help. "Let me help you home."

"I no need help from child like you," the boy slapped his hand away.

Crowley scowled and tried again, hefting the boy's arm over his shoulders. So light, even for a boy his height… "I'm not a child!"

"Coward," gasped the boy in pain. The word struck him in a place where it hurt, and Crowley couldn't think to respond. They stood there a moment as wind rushed by, carrying along tiny grains of desert.

"Just… let me help you home or something," Crowley pleaded. "It's… Please."

The boy turned to regard him for a long while, contemplating, and Crowley felt like he was being studied by the desert itself. Hair like clumped sand and eyes like the heart of desert stones, with strength enough to last even the harshest days or nights… Even being a full head taller Crowley had to look away, and he felt very small.

There was a sigh before the weight beside him shifted. "That way." Crowley looked up and a hand was pointing, though he was looking the depressions where scars hadn't really healed over more than the direction it was aimed at.

"R-Right." He carefully took a few steps forward, making sure he wasn't walking too quick. The boy's breathing was laboured, in pain no doubt, and Crowley wondered if he would last a bitter Nihalian night with none of the thick sheets to keep the heat in.

"What you doing here?" the boy rasped out, keeping his eyes straight. "Your friends all leave and you still come help? You get us both killed."

"I didn't want to leave you."

The boy snorted. They turned down an alleyway, disappearing from the eyes of the main square and taking refuge in the shade where the sun could not reach. "You do well, staying away from us. You call us mongrels? Right? Your father will kill you in a flash."

"My…" Crowley blinked, and the boy merely laughed.

"You look like him," he shot a grin over, pearl teeth glinting in the shadows. "Same eyes, same hair. If only Duke is scared like you."

Crowley looked away.

They walked and climbed steps with effort, the boy's legs barely holding his weight. Crowley realised that by some stroke of sheer luck he had landed without spraining anything, the only pain he felt was the force of the ground crashing against his rear end. But the boy was struggling, letting out quick breaths and small grunts that could not be bitten back. It belied the cold front he was putting up.

Thankfully they scaled the last flight without incident and turned into an even narrower alleyway, which was now hardly distinguishable from the walls of the houses themselves, uncobbled and rarely trod on. Signs of life began to appear — sandals left outside a closed door, scratched marbles and fabric dolls stashed in a box, fine carvings in the window to let in air but keep heat out.

Everywhere he looked was brown, the color of mud when rain slid across the ground and sand had nowhere else to go. The only form of color was in the cloth awnings that sheltered entryways and even then they had eaten away by cruel heat and thundering showers, leaving behind a washed-out ghost of their former selves.

The boy stopped in front of a door and turned to him. "Is here. You go home now." With a deft shrug the boy dislodged Crowley's arms and left him standing there, at a loss.

He gritted his jaws. The boy was already pushing the door open and calling out in Nihalian, and somewhere else there was a reply from a woman. His mother, probably.

Crowley was strangely disappointed. Surely this couldn't have been all. A part of him wanted to leave, to return back to the cool shelter of lithium infused marble for lunch, but a part of him also wanted to know how life in the sands and biting winds was like.

"What you doing?" the boy was fixing him with another one of those glares that rebuked him without even saying a word. "Go home!"

"I…"

"What you want? Money?" The boy growled, "Your family can give you. You want help me, you do it for nothing."

"It's not—"

"Ah, Kaa, who is that?"

A woman had appeared in the hallway, shawl obscuring her features. The boy called Kaa rolled his eyes and trudged over. "Nobody. He say want help me home, now say want money."

"I didn't say that!"

"Ah, you never learn, hm?" The woman gave Kaa a quick lookover before shooing him to the bathroom. "When people show you kind, you also be kind back."

Kaa replied in a snarl of Nihalian before vanishing, to which the woman shook her head and stood.

"Come," she gestured, and Crowley hesitated before taking off his shoes. The woman laughed again. "Floor already dirty, just come in."

Eagerly, he kicked his shoes back on and entered the house… if it could even be called a house. Even though the walls were mud and in their shadow he instantly felt much cooler, as if he were stepping into another world. A tattered rug lined the ground, surrounded by several well-used pillows. On a low crate that served as a table, a single brilliant red flower peeked out from a little clay vase.

Homely, even if it was meagre.

The woman led him over to the kitchen. He gave a wide berth to the stoves — he meant no disrespect, but they looked rusty and charred. Even the pot that was humming on the coal fire was giving off a… slightly upsetting smell that made his insides churn when he walked past.

Sitting him down on a wooden chair, the woman reached forward with knobbly, dried hands and pushed up his fringe. Under her shawl, the worn lines across her face was evidence not only of endless toil but also a persistent smile. Her eyes were two orbs of granite lined with fine lithium dust, and her lips were cracked from heat and lack of water.

He hissed when she touched an old bruise to the side of his temple, and she let out a sigh. "Poor thing."

Those were old bruises, and Crowley had to bite his lip uneasily. Even if he was all the way out here, he didn't want word of his tattling to reach the Duke.

"I… walked into a wall," Crowley lied.

"Still got such bad hurts, child?" the woman's gaze softened and Crowley, the child that he didn't know he was, found himself wondering why his own mother didn't give him this expression more often. "Never heal properly?"

"I'm clumsy."

"Along your shoulder also? And leg?" The woman's gaze hardened. " _They_ do this to you?"

"No." The boy answered for him from the threshold of the door, a towel slung over his shoulder. He was bronzed, all hard angles even under the new shirt he had changed into. The boy studied him carefully. "They only get me."

The boy cut in with grated Nihalian, and the mother laughed. Unsure, Crowley glanced at the boy — Kaa, was it? His name? — and only received a scowl in return.

"Kaa, this stupid bird," she clicked her tongue and had him sulking, a look that Crowley was surprised to see. "Think I care for one of you white skins more than own son."

Crowley felt something cold streak through him. "I wouldn't want you to—"

"You look," she pointed. "Look at this bird, see he hurt anywhere? No? Small bruise? You see he so strong, small bruise do nothing to him. You pretend sleep like I say?"

Kaa looked away, still disgruntled. "Ya. Even cry. Like baby."

"See? What I say? You pretend sleep they always go. They like blood, no like death, see?"

"Ya but that boy never even help, you care for him still? What for?"

"I did tell them to stop," Crowley cut in, feeling a sting of indignation. "You heard me!" He was too afraid to face them all at once, but he had, by some irrational impulse, called out for them to stop, and gods know what would have happened to the boy had he avoided doing so.

"See? You think he come here for fun, eat our food and take our things?" Kaa's mother tutted, bowl and some ointment in hand. She strutted over, seized Kaa's wrist, and quickly dabbed something grey against the bruise on his ribs harder than need be, as if admonishing him. "Stupid bird! What he want then!"

Crowley resisted the urge to smile despite himself as Kaa yelled in pain and his mother released him.

"You don't laugh!" Kaa snapped, and Crowley immediately schooled his expression.

"You don't shout!" Kaa's mother came back up to him. "Come, boy, you don't listen to that bird. What your name?"

"C… Crowley."

" _Kerali_? Sound like good name, ya." She held out the bowl as she talked. "See? Medicine, for your bruise. Everywhere, ya, poor thing. Very fast heal, let Yasmine take care of you."

"Thank you," Crowley held out his arms and shifted his weight as Yasmine instructed, tensing whenever she ran her fingers across bruises old and new, but no matter where she placed her fingers, he felt not even a single throb of pain. She was so gentle. Even for a frail woman like herself, she moved with practice and confidence, and he wondered how many times she had done the same for her son and husband. With a derisive snort, Kaa turned on his heel and headed out of the kitchen.

"Kaa tell me just now, you are son of Duke?"

The soft question startled him and he looked up, terrified that somehow this knowledge would have warranted some different treatment, but still she continued to rub and soothe his injuries. Her shawl hid her expression from his view and he could only pray as he answered, tentatively, "… Yes."

"The Duke is strict man," Yasmine murmured. Was that sympathy in her voice? Crowley couldn't understand why she was still so kind, not when his people had abused hers for years and years… "But you look so like him, ya, same eyes and hair…"

"I hate him," Crowley blurted out. On the table, his hand clenched. "I hate everything about him."

"We all do, child." Satisfied her treatment of whatever injuries she could find, Yasmine straightened. Her expression killed Crowley. It made her look old, and in one single instance told him more about life here than any English could possibly convey.

Desperate for a change in topic, he blundered on. "What about Kaa? Kaa's father?"

"Like you, bird take after father. The more he grow the more he remind me of father. Same spirit, same strength, like iron buried in sand. He have father's smile, but he take my eyes."

"My father was a good man," Kaa was at the door again, eyes hard and unyielding. Yasmine's eyes were not as judgmental, nor as cutting, though they surely were as brilliant, once upon a time.

It took a while for it to sink in, however —

"He died in the mines," said Kaa, when the realisation dawned on Crowley's face. "They never care. Never find his body."

"I'm…" Crowley stood, finding no words that made a good response. "I'm sorry," he said instead, because he still was the Duke's son, and for that, surely he had to bear a portion of his father's sins on his own shoulders, even if he did not have a hand in it.

He didn't dare meet either of their eyes, not with the tension crackling in the air.

And as quickly as it had built up, it was gone. Kaa let out a sigh and waved a hand, and for the first time, his expression had softened. "It's in the past."

Kaa walked over, taking a seat opposite Crowley — avoiding the chair at the head of the table, he noticed. Yasmine had gone back to bustling about the kitchen, setting out bowls laden with thick stew. Crowley regarded his with apprehension, to which Kaa and Yasmine both laughed.

"Eat!" Kaa grabbed a flimsy tin spoon and worked voraciously through his. Crowley continued to stare at his food and blanched when a bubble broke the surface. "Eat," repeated Kaa, grinning now. The boy had warmed up considerably, not that Crowley was complaining, but he was still mildly intimidated by the viscous mass he was faced with. "You so small, better eat more. Thought milk skins have better food but you still so thin, like reeds."

"I'm not small!"

"He bigger than you, bird." Yasmine called from the stove.

Crowley scowled. "I'm twelve."

"I am fifteen! And with better name and stronger body!" Kaa gestured at his mother with his spoon before pointing it at Crowley. "You! What your name mean!"

Crowley realised he didn't know. "Er —"

"What does it matter? They different mind from us, bird."

"Name have meaning! Name have power. Name make you who you are. Kaa," the boy continued, and Crowley could practically see him puffing up as he preened, "Is name given by my father. Kaa is sound of mighty bird."

"Like crow! Noisy, rubbish-eating bird!" Yasmine was beside him in a flash, cuffing him deftly with a wooden spoon. "So noisy! Always talk about yourself!"

"Not now, ma! _Ma_!"

Crowley burst out laughing. The image of the once-sullen boy suddenly besieged by his unyielding mother was too much to take in. He didn't realise they had fallen silent and were watching him until he had calmed down, and then he looked away, cheeks aching, slightly embarrassed.

"You laugh, laugh some more." Kaa warned, but there was no harsh edge to his voice. "I kick you. Don't waste my mother's cooking, you better eat."

The food looked exactly as it tasted, which was to say — absolutely vile. It tasted like the desert itself, like mud made from sand and year-old water with grasses that grew by the roadside, and it was possibly exactly that. After the first mouthful Yasmine asked him how it tasted, and when Crowley gritted his jaws to force down a particularly rebellious hurl of his stomach, she smiled and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"I think one day, young one, you will understand how the desert care for people that live in it."

They didn't pressure him to eat any more, though, much to Crowley's relief — and Kaa's frustration, when Yasmine produced some flattened bread from a wicker basket in the corner.

"Kaa's favorite," she explained, as she handed him a chunk and Kaa watched on in envy. "His father teach me, he say is… ah, how to say —"

"Gypsies," Kaa supplied sulkily.

"Yes. Gypsy. He say his family use to make it like that before they settle in Ariant oasis."

The bread was dry, flaky and unleavened. Crowley had never eaten bread without yeast before, and it felt more like baked lumps of dough than the fluffy slices of bread he was so used to seeing on his table. But unlike the bread he usually ate at home, Yasmine's bread tasted sweet all the way through, as if baked with honey, or the nectar of some flower.

Crowley wanted to eat it all, but he couldn't bear to. Kaa was absolutely delighted with the half that Crowley handed to him, and savoured every bite.

Too soon the sun had fallen from its perch. His father would be home for dinner, and he absolutely had to get home before that. Yasmine waved him goodbye with a teary hug and a quiet whisper into his ear, "May the desert watch over you, _Kerali._ " Crowley felt a savage twist to his gut when she finally pulled away, and had to grit his jaw so his lip wouldn't tremble.

Kaa saw him back to the main square. There was a patch of dried blood there, and Crowley did his best to ignore it.

"You going tell the Duke?"

Kaa's expression was ice, the hostility back twicefold — Crowley nearly took a step backwards. The boy wasn't armed, but could gravely injure him if he so wanted…

"I just asking, Crowley." Kaa looked away, but there was no doubt about the anger that still simmered behind the casual veneer of his words. "If you going say I hit you, tell me now. Give me and mama time to run."

Here was a boy, asking for mercy after he and his mother had taken in one of their oppressors, reining in his anger because he couldn't afford to be irrational right now. Crowley's stomach flipped and he felt his knee tremble.

"I… Kaa," Crowley pleaded, because he didn't know how else to convey how utterly ashamed he felt to be who he was, and he wanted to be forgiven for the sins of an entire society, yet he simply couldn't even begin anywhere apt. He couldn't even save the life of a single boy.

Kaa turned and walked back down the road he came from, and Crowley watched him grow, something slimy clawing up the back of his throat.

"Don't be late to go home, ya," Kaa called over his shoulder, and the elongated shadows of the mud houses swallowed him, and then he was gone.

Left with no other option, Crowley trudged back up the stairs. He couldn't think what to do, he was terrified and panicky and now he had the Duke to think of. And the sky was turning dark, dinnertime was probably coming, and then he would have to face all the questions —

With a sickening jolt, Crowley realized that dinnertime today was supposed to be a grand affair, not at home, but in the audience of the Princess in her castle.

The world spun. Crowley stumbled over to the nearest house and leaned heavily against it, biting his lip so hard that he tasted iron. He willed himself not to cry, not to whimper, not to break down, because his eyes would be red later, and that was also a sin in the Lucre family. He couldn't cry, he was probably already late, but maybe, just maybe, his absence would be worse than his late arrival. Breath came in short uncontrollable bursts but he forced air through his teeth and decided he would make it through this.

The palace was on the other side of town, which left him no choice but to run.

So run he did. Fear lent speed to his feet, while panic stopped his breath, but he knew how impossible it was to slow down for even a while. He tore past the buildings of hardened mud, along the split muddy roads and leaping over potholes, oblivious to the Nihalians that peeked at him from behind half-drawn blinds. The buildings gave way to open grassland, and then to cultured lawns, dirt paths growing coarser and their stones smoother until they were round pebbles inset into concrete, and he followed these lanes through a high golden archway onto the grand roads of Ariant. He didn't spare a glance at the ornate houses that reflected amber light and scattered prisms across marble walls. There were still finely-dressed nobles around, ambling past well-manicured shrubs, and they yelled at him to slow down but he pretended he didn't hear.

It wasn't long before he arrived at the entrance of the Palace. The guards gave him weird looks and asked about his wounds — "I fell down the stairs, and walked into a wall," he said without stammering, — before opening the gates for him, and in he ran. He sprinted past the glittering fountains and the ornate gazebos and was thoroughly out of breath as he stumbled up the stairs, only to crash into a man in a suit.

He couldn't stop the breathless whimper of apology that fell from his lips, and he was about to drop to the ground when hands grasped his elbows and hauled him firmly but gently to his feet.

Giles, and not the Duke. Oh, thank gods it wasn't the Duke.

The butler didn't let a single flicker of emotion pass his face and merely murmured, "Come" before he found himself in front of a mirror and Giles was working at his wounds with makeup and powder, checking that the buttons of his new shirt and jacket were all done.

"Don't keep worrying your lip or it will tear again," Giles said gently, carefully running fingers softly through Crowley's hair. Crowley knew it was to rid of dust and stray gravel but gods if he wanted the man to pat his head and hug him and lend him some of that unshakeable strength.

"Is da— is the Duke angry?" Crowley whispered, "How late am I?"

"A couple minutes behind schedule, young master." Giles looked him over before tending once more to an old bruise that showed where his fringe couldn't cover it.

Crowley kept his eyes on the wry old butler so he wouldn't have to look at his reflection, he'd long had enough of the terrified young boy he saw there. It was not someone he wanted to be.

"Is… Is the Duke angry?"

Giles did not reply, and now Crowley couldn't stop the sob or the rapid breaths that his lungs were forcing through him —

"Crowley," Giles took his shoulders firmly, "Crowley! Calm down!"

Crowley could not. "I don't want to go in there."

"I am afraid I cannot help you," Giles said, and it was the first time Crowley had ever seen worry on the old man's face. It did not bode well for him.

"Giles, please. I don't… want…"

But there were no words. The breath died in Crowley's throat, and he saw the small silhouette in the mirror lose its strength, its shoulders sagging, and all he wanted to do was curl up on the ground and cry so hard he did not see the light of day ever again.

"I am sorry, young master. Truly I am." Giles cupped his cheek gently and Crowley blinked away the first of many tears to come. "But what you face shall be tenfold more severe should you not make your presence known at once."

How he dreaded it, but he knew it was true. There was no choice, he was never given a choice in anything. He was dealt a bad hand from the start, just as the Nihalians were, and there was no choice but to make do and thrive where others would wither.

So he tried, because it was the only option left to take, and he squared his shoulders, put on his shoes, sent his fear to the dark place in the corner of his mind, and headed to the dining room.

The food smelled delicious, of honey and fat sizzling on a toasty grill, but it only served to make his stomach cringe. The guards let him through, hefting their spears, and Crowley stepped by with eyes straight as he had been taught, not acknowledging their presence. At long table, framed by luscious red silk, sat Princess Areda, who chirped and waved at him.

On meeting eye contact, he fell to one knee with a stiff gesture, head bowed in respect. He knew this pose well, guided by a crop and his father's harsh words, he would remember where to land and how the cold felt as it bit into his knee through the thin fabric of his trousers.

Princess Areda bade him to his feet, and he walked over as bravely as he could to take his seat.

The Duke was seated with the Duchess on his right, both in matching, elaborate white satin with gold trim that brought out the purple shades of their eyes. Gold always served purple well, he'd been taught, and the heavy-set scowl that screamed his father's disapproval never failed to remind him of this fact and how his father's eyes were hard around its violet edges. The only thing the Duke wore that the Duchess did not was the symbol of the Lucre household pinned to his chest: a circular aquamarine badge rimmed with more gold. It overlaid a proud fan of the feathers of a bird of prey, and the clean white feathers had their tips dipped in light blue dye. Aquamarine used to be what the family traded with, but now that they had lithium, aquamarine was useless. He knew that history well; his father had it drilled into him since he was younger.

Somehow, Crowley couldn't help think that if his eyes had turned out light blue like his mother's instead of violet like his father's, his father would have no qualms gouging them out with a spoon.

"You're late," noted the Duchess disapprovingly, as Crowley took the seat at her left.

"I… I a-apologise."

Princess Areda laughed and waved a hand. "Nonsense! Nonsense. Boys will be boys, you know that. When I was a child myself I remember missing my meals as well."

"Children should not be disobedient and interrupt their betters," smiled the Duke, but it took an experienced ear like Crowley's to know how strained it was, and how the tightness of each syllable screamed at the sheer rage that his smile hid.

Crowley counted to ten, over and over, as the Princess stood up.

"Oh, it is no interruption at all. I was just about go my new contract and show it to you! And besides, we have hardly even begun the appetizers."

Crowley's eyes shot open, but he knew better than to look up even despite his shock. He stared at the gold embellishments of his porcelain plate. Once the Princess left this room, the Duke would be on him in a flash.

The Duchess put her wineglass down. "Perhaps after the food, your highness?"

Not even the Duchess wanted the impending trouble. Crowley swallowed the sound that wanted to escape.

"It will be no trouble at all." The Princess got to her feet. "Give me a minute."

He closed his eyes. The sound of the Princess' bangles clinking against each other receded into the distance, and then the Duke's chair shifted as he stood.

No good. Crowley jerked up from his seat and scrambled to kneel. "Father, I'm sorry—"

"What did I say about punctuality?" The Duke grabbed his wrist and yanked him to his feet, harshly slapping him across the face. Crowley ground his jaws together, praying the Duke's rings wouldn't cut his face.

"Amos, don't. We're not at home—"

"What is this."

A sharp pain laced through his ear and Crowley's eyes shot open, he squirmed and grunted through his teeth, hands grasping weakly at the Duke's nails dug into the soft flesh of his earlobe.

Smudged across the Duke's hand was the pale cream and powder that Giles had used to hide the bruises, blocking out the veins on his palm, and Crowley was sure all his injuries were on display. All the new bruises, and the old one that the Duke had placed there a long time ago.

"What is this?" The Duke's voice had gone dangerously soft.

The grip on his ear tightened and Crowley let out a high-pitched groan. "I f-f-fell down the stairs—"

The Duke twisted his wrist, and Crowley was driven onto tiptoe.

"Think I'm daft, do you? Jack had the courtesy to inform me about your little excursion to the Lower Reaches, and he said you had the gall to beat up one of those diseased mutts down there."

"I didn't!" Crowley sobbed, "I swear —"

"Then what? Did you punch yourself then? Are you so eager for me to hit you?"

"I-It… It was Jack! Jack hit me! _Jack_ hurt me! Father—"

" _Don't_ lie to me, _boy_."

"F-Father, I swear! Please, I d-didn't beat up anyone—"

The Duke released him and he landed on the gorund, tears running down his face. Crowley scrambled backwards as best as he could, uncaring of how undignified it was, as the Duke towered over him.

"So you're calling Jack a liar? Is that it?"

The Duke reached down to grab Crowley's shirt, crushing the collar in his fist. Crowley fought the instinct to grab onto the Duke's arm because he knew how much angrier the Duke could be if he so much as creased the man's jacket.

"You expect me to believe your little ruse?"

"Tsk, Amos."

The Princess. She'd come back.

The Duke glanced at the doorway and let go. Crowley collapsed on the ground, not knowing what to do. He had never been in this situation before, with the Duke's anger masked as swiftly as it had appeared and a guest tutting sympathetically at him.

"You're not even at home," hissed his mother, and the Duke whispered something in reply that made her face pale.

"I apologise, Princess." The Duke tilted his head as she retook her seat, tucking rich brown hair behind her ear.

"Oh, no worries. My own father and mother cannot care less about the state of his court, your son could bleed here if you so pleased. As long as tales don't leak, hmm?"

Crowley pushed himself onto hands and knees, trying to stifle the sobs before they came. Everything hurt, and there was a space between his collarbones that burned like something was trying to escape. He couldn't even muster indignation at the knowledge that the guards were openly staring at him.

The Duchess waved a hand. "Of course, of course. I will ensure that no word shall spread. Is gold acceptable, or would you rather deal in emeralds? There's a new shipment scheduled this weekend."

Both women began to negotiate, and Crowley raised watery eyes to the Duke, not blinking because he so desperately needed the Duke to see how he was feeling and how he wanted to be given just one more chance.

So many times he had stared at the back of this head, studying the slicked-back strands of dirty gold locked strictly in place with shiny wax. Just as always, not a single strand was out of line. Sometimes the man didn't even bother turning around to mete out punishment. He'd seen the back of the Duke's head more times than the front. But it wasn't like he needed to.

Crowley was reminded of the Duke's face every time he glanced in front of a mirror.

Times like these though, he wanted to look into the Duke's eyes because there was no other way to convey how utterly defeated he was.

"Go make yourself presentable," said the Duke, not giving the dignity of eye contact.

"At o-once, father."

He forced himself to his knees. He wasn't sure if his ear was working properly, what with the way it rang, but at least everything else was fine. He could walk, he could see, and he hadn't sprained anything.

The guards let him pass without a word. Crowley kept his eyes on the window at the far end of the hallway as he walked. It was an ornate room with a granite pool in the middle, containing fish that looked as if they were carved from precious colored stone. Gold and silver ornaments of mythical dragons and nymphs and fawn were stacked precariously in the center, eyes of carved jewels. Crowley loved this room, partially because it was calming, but also because there were beautiful paintings hung on the walls, of floating castles and bottomless seas and sakura trees and herb gardens, worlds that he could only wish to escape to.

Immediately when he threaded past the bead curtains he collapsed at the lithium washbasin at the far right of the room, suddenly numb. It felt like he was just given a new chance and he had narrowly thwarted a fate far worse than he had ever imagined.

Then he realized what trouble he had landed himself in. He had embarrassed his father in front of the princess, and that could not spell anything good for him. The Duke prized his reputation, and while the Duchess was quick to repair the damage, the Duke was surely going to blame Crowley for the outburst and for ruining whatever good image he had painstakingly crafted for himself over the years, even if it was obvious enough what a crooked man he was.

Crowley dipped his hands into the water and wiped his face, careful not to smudge any of the cream. There were two ugly, purplish lines streaking across his cheeks. Tear marks that had revealed the bruises on his face. They simply couldn't be re-concealed when Giles wasn't here.

Where was Giles? Giles was the only one he was safe with.

In fact, even home wasn't safe. Home had never been safe.

Had there ever been a place for him here, in the Lucre household? Where he could feel loved, and where he could feel safe?

Was this what safety was supposed to feel like?

With frustration, Crowley plunged his arms into the water and splashed himself liberally with the cool liquid, relishing the feel as it ran down his neck and soothed his aching body. He scrubbed with fury, the only act of rebellion he could possibly summon the courage to enact. He undid the wrist cuffs and the button on his collar, grimacing openly at how awful the bruises looked. Spots of greenish yellow pockmarked his skin, old bruises kept alive because never healed or because they were pressed on, over and over again. There were fresh welts lining his neck, elongated rows marking fingerprints, and a bruising earlobe once again.

Crowley stared, and for the first time, he dared to admit that was too thin, kept light by stress and constant strain, and he knew this wasn't how boys should look like even if they were from the slums of Nihal.

Could be possibly deserve better than this?

He turned himself away from that alluring thought and dried himself off on a soft towel nearby, patting away the moisture on his sleeves as best as he could. There was makeup on the other side of the room, he knew. He would try to cover up the worst of it and hope his blonde hair could conceal the rest if he kept his head down.

He was crossing the room when he realized that he had been watched the entire time.

There was a dark shape in the window, blocking out the ruby and magentas of sunset. The silhouette sported the crisp edges of a finely tailored suit, further accented where threads and buttons of gold caught the sun. Crowley recognized the stance of a man in his prime. Confidence, boldness, not a hint of fear; everything Crowley didn't have.

He couldn't see the man's features clearly, they were only scarcely lit but they were gaunt and weathered, a sharp contrast to his slender build. The man's head was tilted as Crowley just stood there, suddenly transfixed like a mouse in an eagle's glare, enraptured not by the man's unexplained presence, or the man's regal aura.

Beneath the hooked beak of a polished silver mask, two eyes glittered silver, fragments of the moon surrounding a drop of ink.

He'd heard about this man: the phantom thief of Ariant.

He couldn't think to cry out or run. He held his breath, so terrified that a single false move would break the spell, for he was sure he was being studied, judged by a man who commanded so much more than what met the eye. The man's gaze shifted to his jaw, his ear, his collarbone where his shirt was undone, his wrist where his sleeves were rolled up.

Crowley felt a sudden urge to explain himself. That he wasn't broken and he could be just as good a child as anyone else could be.

The figure shifted, and Crowley found the breath leaving him in anticipation for what he was about to receive.

"Crowley! What are you -"

He jerked his head around. It was Areda herself, at the other end of the corridor, eyes wide but staring over his shoulder. He then remembered the stranger and turned around again, only catching the tail end of a cape whisked up towards the roof.

"You opened the window!" the princess screamed. "Guards! Thief! Stop him!"

Two very strong, very terrifying emotions hit Crowley, and his mind whited out. The first was fear. It was simple and plain, an old familiar friend. He could not afford being taken back to his parents, who would surely blame and discipline him for letting the thief in no matter how much he tried to explain himself. There was still what Jack had done to him, and he was certain the Duke had already formed his opinion on the matter.

The second was a new emotion. Clear and intense, yet at the same time razor sharp, so acute that it cut through him like a blade — the need to survive. And Crowley knew at that moment, even more than when he had watched Kaa get beaten in the square, that if he let the Duke lay hands on him one more time, he might not make it through another night.

He thought about Kaa's expression, that split second glance between them, and now realised how exactly he must have felt.

Crowley broke into a harried sprint towards the window, the last available exit, with the Princess's voice ringing in his ears.

The drop was two floors high. A bad angle and he'd break something he couldn't recover from. Shrubs lined the garden, but there wasn't much else besides. His grip tightened on the windowsill. A pavilion was way too far out of reach, and its sloping domical roof wouldn't help much for traction either.

A bead of sweat trickled down his fringe and he watched the pearl fall, down, down, down, to get lost in the tiny leaves below.

Then he caught sight of it. The silhouette of the stranger on the pavilion roof, his strange hooked mask and fluttering cape. He couldn't see the man's eyes, but he was sure he was being watched once again.

Assessed.

Quick as a vanishing shadow, the man dropped from his perch. Crowley's heart jumped into his throat as the man fell, his cape a streak of plumage billowing grandly out behind him. Gravity itself seemed to make an exception for the man as he fluttered to meet the ground, a bird delicately landing. Still soundless, momentum pushed him into a somersault before surging upright in one sleek motion.

Before the man even looked up, Crowley was in the air.

He heard the Duke's voice faintly, an entire world away. There was no more fear of death, or the fear of falling. It was just him, arms spread wide for balance like fake wings, eyes locked on some distant point in the horizon as though if he focused any harder he would soar there by willpower alone.

Somewhere deep inside him, it clicked.

He was free.

Cold metal slammed into his upper body like a vicious punch and snapped him out of his trance. He scrabbled wildly to grip the domical golden roof of the pavillion, suddenly feeling his heart plummet down to his legs. His legs swung uselessly in the air as he slid down towards the edge of the roof.

The stranger was moving again, breaking into a dash. Some deep part of Crowley stirred to life, demanding he follow. With a deep breath and a second more to push his fear as far as it could go, he let go.

The ground hit his ankles too hard and pain rushed up his legs, but he tried to roll forward as he'd seen the stranger do. Immediately he was up on his feet and following the stranger's path blindly. The world was spinning and he couldn't seem to get air into his lungs but at the same time everything was crystal clear. Acutely aware of the shouting coming from the palace, he darted behind a finely-trimmed hedge for cover. He gave himself ten seconds to catch his breath before running forward again.

Someone yanked him back.

It was like lightning had cracked through him, he spun and fought his captor like a wild animal. He wasn't even looking to see who it was, only that he knew he had to get away.

"Kid," came a low growl, "Shut up or they'll hear you."

He stilled, and the hand let go. Crowley realised that another pace more and he would've stepped into the faint glow of a lantern. The beam of light had swung his way and was now probing in another direction, leaving him safe in the shadows. He looked back up and met the hooked beak of the bird mask.

Before he could even think to speak, the man held up a finger to his lips below his mask, hushing him. He nodded but the man had already turned and strode off. He noticed a string of beads hanging from his belt, glistening in the light, solidified colors straight from the rainbow that glowed as if they gave off their own light.

Crowley realised that a thief who dressed whatever way he wanted was one who knew he couldn't get caught.

It was to this realisation that he watched the man draw a single, golden card before simply melting into the shadows.

Magic. It had to be. Lucia and the Duke had mentioned it before, but he didn't think real magicians existed. He'd thought they were just conmen, like the ones playing dirty tricks on the side of the road with fake pockets and sleight of hand to make a quick and dirty buck off tourists and the naive noble.

He could mull about this later. Crowley shrank back from the light as it grew brighter, only to freeze when the glow of another lantern engulfed his shoes. He didn't dare turn back. The only way was to press himself into the hedge, flattening himself as far as he could into the thorny branches and leaves, hoping that the owner of the second lantern would divert his attention elsewhere.

But it was no use. He could hear the heavy thump of footsteps approaching, closer and closer.

Through gaps in the leaves, he made out shoes with black wing tips and silver-tipped laces. Only the kind worn in the Lucre mansion.

"Crowley?"

He felt his body go limp with relief at the reedy voice.

"Giles," he whispered.

"Where will you go, Young Master?"

"I…" Crowley clenched his jaws. "Anywhere. Anywhere far from here."

"Should I search for you myself, Young Master?"

Crowley watched Giles's lantern cast light aimlessly around the area, as if he was still searching. He wasn't going to drag Giles into this. Giles was possibly the only one he trusted — the only one he'd consider anything remotely like _family_ , but he still had things to go home to.

"No."

"I thought so." Giles took a few steps forward and raised his voice. "I can't find him, he's not here." Dropping back into a whisper again he said, "I'm sorry, Young Master, if I knew this was going to happen I'd have brought my wallet —"

"I'll find a way to make it."

"I know you will, Young Master, but please be careful."

Crowley almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. One day ago he was at home, drinking a mug of hot chocolate, blissfully unaware he was about to be the target of a palace wide manhunt. "I'll try my b—"

The sharp crash of pottery cut through the air, followed by another scream. Crowley forced himself not to move, not to turn to see what was going on lest he give away his position in the bushes.

"Thief! It's the phantom thief! On the palace roof!" shouted Giles. Crowley listened to his footfalls recede, followed soon by others he didn't even know were there. The shouting and yelling was getting louder, more shattering valuables and class clinking against marble, unbearable noises and incoherent yelling that left him alone and bedraggled in the garden.

He seized the distraction and threaded his way towards the gates, throwing cautious glances over his shoulder every few steps. But nobody followed him.

If the marble walls were high in the day, they towered over him at night. He didn't even hope that he could climb over them to escape. Not in this condition. He simply kept himself as small as he could until he'd circled around and reached the main entrance of the palace. The two guards there were sitting at their posts, and Crowley spent several minutes wondering how he'd get past them until he realised that their mouths were hanging slightly open and the gate was already unlocked.

There was a crimson rectangle on the ground, hidden slightly out of sight by an overhanging bush. The bird thief's card. As if waiting for him, it flickered out of existance just moments after he saw it.

He'd trust this thief.

Boldly, he strode up to the gates and pushed. The well-oiled hinges offered no resistance as the gates were pushed open just enough for him to slip out and vanish into the night.

Then Crowley ran.

He didn't look back once. The main roads were empty at this time, nobody was there to watch him go. Only now was his body catching up to him, every ache resurfacing, the impact of his jump throbbing in the core of his knees. His palms burned from friction against the ground, every gasp of breath hurt the base of his ribs where he'd slammed into the roof of the pavilion.

The pounding of his heart drowned out the sound of his shoes on the dusty pathways and the breaths tearing raggedly from his lungs. And behind that there was the faint, never ceasing static of crickets, the same drone it had always been. It sounded far louder out here, even with the wind whistling through cracks in the walls and roofs.

Nobody saw him skid out the last of the marble walls and down the steep staircase cut into the sandstone. He nearly lost his footing at the bottom but barely managed to catch his balance and haul himself upright.

He stumbled over to the square and sagged against an old signboard, its posters tattered and yellowed by the unforgiving weather. This had been where Kaa had been beaten. But every little street looked the same, every alleyway just as dark, the moon was barely out and there was hardly any light to see by. Everything looked different in the dark, as if some shadow would leap out at him if he didn't pay close enough attention.

Casting another glance up to the finer districts to make sure he was alone, and making sure there was no sign of other life except the insects buzzing in the background, Crowley took a deep breath.

"Kaa," he called.

He waited. Strained to hear anything in the silence, but there was nothing.

There was a shift of sand somewhere, maybe a foot against the ground, but when he looked there was nobody there, just the silhouettes of the blockish houses casting shadows against the storm clouds in the sky.

The boy's name really did sound like a crow's call.

"Kaa! Yasmine —"

"I already say you get us both killed, now you come looking for death also?"

Half hidden in the dim light was Kaa, waving him over with a bandaged hand.

"Oh gods, Kaa. Thank you." He stumbled over and fell into step, while the older boy looked him over reproachfully.

"Tsk. What you doing here, so late? Go home."

Home? He didn't have a home any more. He didn't want the home he had. 'Home' was a farce, a thick wad of lies that flourished on the pain of others. He wasn't going to be a part of any of that.

"No."

Kaa made a sound of annoyance and clicked his tongue. "And what you want here? Do you come look at the stars? Count them all, one by one?"

"I'm not going home."

How good it felt to say that.

As Kaa trailed off and studied him, Crowley let out a small laugh.

"I told the Duke the truth. I stood up to him." Crowley was sure he was smiling, but everything hurt and it wasn't just from the bruises. "I'm done being walked over."

Kaa seemed to come to a decision before nodding. "Ah, our house already so small, when you come in, we will have to squeeze even more… And you are big, you know?"

Everything inside him was a wreck, but something fierce and vicious had bubbled to the front of his mind and wasn't about to let him break this soon. "Just let me stay one night. I just need somewhere safe, to think of where to go next."

Kaa's gaze hardened.

"Desert is not kind, Crowley. Once you leave your lithium walls, your good life, you give yourself to the desert."

The boy gestured. There was a single large storm cloud obscuring more and more of the sky, tinted with bloody hues, moving so fast it looked surreal. With a howl a gust of wind burst out from nowhere, snarling as it tore at his ankles, sending tiny grains stinging against his ankles like countless tiny fangs.

"Desert will swallow you, chew you up, spit you out. It leave you with nothing, or give you everything. Nihal make you new, Crowley. And no outlander will understand that."

"I understand," said Crowley. "The desert is a cruel place."

Kaa laughed, a wild guffaw that was torn to nothing by the thrashing air currents, but in the sound, Crowley heard the voice of a spirit who was completely and utterly free.

And he might as well not have been injured at all, with the way he spread his arms open in a grand gesture of welcome.

The weather could change in a blink out here in Ariant. He knew that since he was a child and watched sandstorms roll in from the horizon. But being in the midst of the birth of a storm was one whole other matter — with raw energy pulsing in the air, hair-raising and almost tangible in the last few seconds before water crashed down around them. Droplets large and fast and cold thundered around them, hooves of some great water equine finally liberated for the first time in years.

He felt Kaa take his hand, the boy's face momentarily lit by lightning, and Crowley saw the blotchy bruise as clearly as he saw his own face reflected in the boy's eyes. He was matching Kaa's reckless grin.

Very faintly, the boy's voice registered in his ears.

"Welcome home, Crowley!"

"It's Rali!"

"What?"

"Ra-li! Kerali, without the _Ke_. Crowley's gone. I left him behind."

Kaa snickered, and he couldn't help laugh back.

"Didn't you say names had meanings?"

"Good! You learn fast!" Kaa tugged him forward, grinning. "Crowley is your offering to Nihal," he shouted over the rain, "Let the milk skin dogs pray to money and gold. Now you know better. Join us, pray to the sand and wind."

Rali tilted his head to the sky, and at that moment a slash of lightning split the night into two, thunder like vicious gnashing of metal against metal sending shivers down his skin. He thought about the life he led up until now, full of fear and terror, ungrounded subservience and unjust luxury, and decided that he had enough of it.

"I will destroy their gods," said Rali, "I will take everything from them like how they've taken from you."

Kaa's grin grew wider still. He looked maniacal in the rain and darkness.

"And from you as well, ya?"

Rali thought about the red calling card he'd seen, and the way the thief's eyes shimmered in the darkness.

There was not only judgement there, but pity as well.

"Yes," he smiled back, "I will take it all."


	2. The saviour

Once they got back home, Yasmine descended on them like a mother hen. She told them off for playing in the rain, glared them into silence while they drank some thick desertflower tea, and then chased them to bed.

They set up a spare mattress for him, just a few worn shirts stitched together with dried cotton and grass stuffed inside, but he was grateful. Kaa bit his tongue when Yasmine said they would bunk together, and Rali promised not to make a mess of his room.

Yasmine — Rali supposed she was his mother now — gave his wounds one more lookover before bed. Her brow knotted as she pointed out the new bruise on his earlobe.

"The Duke?"

Rali nodded. "At least it isn't bleeding this time."

Nothing more was said about it. Yasmine gave him new clothes and new blankets, they were thin but finely woven, and kept the heat in. Rali lowered himself onto the mattress as rain pattered incessantly overhead. Kaa came in a moment later, standing beside the lone candle on the dresser.

"You good?"

"Yeah," Rali nodded and cracked a smile. "Thank you."

Kaa turned to look out at the rain. "Sleep."

It was pitch dark after Kaa blew the candle out. He was expecting the dark, but not this much dark. It felt so much closer, here. He couldn't get used to how _loud_ the rain sounded, so close to him, like water was gushing into the room from somewhere and bringing along a cold gust that gnawed at his ankles. His body heat seeped through the mattress and into the ground, and the blanket barely kept him warm. Yet, despite discomfort, Rali found darkness numbing his thoughts, and he was asleep in minutes.

The next day, as he would be for the next few days, Rali was awoken by Kaa violently shaking his shoulder. Kaa's gaze was steely and determined as he led Rali over to a low cupboard in the kitchen, puling sacks of dirty rice out and shooing Rali in instead.

As the door shut, Rali heard two new voices, deep unaccented English. Guards, surely, come to reclaim the Duke's lost son.

Yasmin's voice was indignant. "Your kind come in here, beat my son, then leave him to die, now come looking for him again? Want to finish him, huh, so cruel?"

"No, ma'am, we—"

"You say his height, his hair color? Think I stupid? Just cause I not white like you? Think you coming in with gun we scared of you? You disgusting, all greedy, so greedy that my husband die. He not big enough? Now coming send my son after him?"

"What's going on in here?"

"I don't know, this crazy bitch is —"

"Still got guts call me crazy!" Yasmin's voice was shrill, almost split down the middle in her fury. Rali actually felt it, an ire fuelled by hurt, deep and far-reaching like an Ariantian mine and the cure was lost in those winding passages never to be found, a rotting body in the darkness.

"Leave her. We've got to find the kid, not deal with these scum."

"We haven't searched —"

"Not as if anyone will know anyway. Let's go, bitch might have rabies or something."

"Ya! Go! Leave! Desert will destroy you one day!"

"Ma," came Kaa's gentle murmur between Yasmin's thickly accented swearing.

"Tch, bird. I fine, I fine, just angry. _Tch_." The cupboard door opened, and Rali squinted against the light. Yasmin stuck her head in, a heavy frown on her lined brow, but her eyes were filled with the same uncanny mischief that matched her son's. "Finally wake, Rali? Feel better? Hungry?"

Rali crawled out and helped to put the rice back in the cupboard. "Hungry, a little. Are… are they gone?"

"Ya." Kaa was leaning on the doorframe, smirking. Rali thought he saw the pain of a long unhealed wound in him, one that far dwarfed Yasmin's, but then Kaa took another step forward out of the shadow and it was no more. He was smiling. "You keep quiet, they step on you. You show them just little bit of teeth, they run like they see cobra fangs."

"But you won't need to do that again. I'm leaving," Rali hurriedly assured them. He had intruded on their hospitality long enough, and he couldn't put someone in danger just because of his recklessness.

The silence grew several tons heavier. Yasmine sighed and made her way around the table over to him.

The wizened, greying woman still had strength in her. Rali only realised this when he was yelping and trying to fend off the smack of a wooden spoon against his arms.

"Stupid boy! You think I let you go?" She huffed, when Rali finally acquiesced, "No home, no friend, go where? Do what? So stubborn, but never learn!"

Kaa was wearing this very slight wince that said measures about how relieved he was to not be where Rali was at that moment. Sorely, Rali rubbed his arm after Yasmine finally left him to prepare lunch. If not for the twinkle in her eyes Rali would've thought she had taken his decision like a personal insult.

"And also, Rali." Kaa stepped forward, and there was a glint in his eyes that reminded Rali of a magician preparing for his first act. "If you think desert accept you as you are right now, you going to die."

Rali was indignant at first, he was young and inexperienced but he had just escaped the clutches of the Duke and the Princess' royal guard! Surely he could find his way after some trial and error.

It was to his chagrin that he realized that Kaa was completely right. He hadn't the slightest clue how to dress, where to find food or water when things were scarce, or how to hunt or track or kill. The next few days he spent wearing an old towel around his head and knotted in such a fashion to shade the back of his neck from the glare of the sun, collecting herbs that looked like weeds and learning to tell rabbits' burrows from rats'. Kaa taught him how to walk even the narrowest rocky outcrops and to identify the hidden footholds in sheer cliffs. Soon he learned how to snare pigeons in traps, to gather carrots for eating and clovers for their sap, and how to cook dried cakes to trade with wandering gypsies in exchange for medicinal herbs and weapons.

"My father come like them. The gypsies." Kaa told him one day as they rested from their sparring sessions in the shade of a dried acacia tree. The boy pointed, and in the distance Rali could only just make out the cloud driven up by the caravan pulled by one of the gypsies' horses. "Out of the sand, to the oasis. He tell us many stories about death and thirst out there in Nihal. Desert is unkind, but Ariant oasis protect them from angry sand god."

Kaa laughed, but Rali recognized the note of bitterness in the boy's voice.

"Protect them from sand god also no use. Now new devils come. Even Nihal want nothing to do with them."

Towards the east, through gaps in the mud buildings, the Ariant palace glittered all the colors of the sun. The painfully artificial construct was an eyesore, an insult to the quiet strength of the rolling dunes.

"One day they will be no more," Rali muttered, fist clenched, "I will grind them to nothing."

"Ah?" Kaa picked up his trusty acacia staff and rapped Rali's knee with it. Rali had one too; it was what they used in lieu of actual weapons and blades. "Such big talk. What you do? Cannot even best me in sword fight."

Rali tutted and snaked his own weapon out, catching Kaa in the ribs. The boy yelped and sprung to his feet, scowling.

"Eh! No warning! Bad manners!"

Rali quickly gave chase with a wide grin. Kaa took the bait and they locked staffs, clashing and parrying as best as they could. Rali drove himself fast and then faster still, while Kaa met him with equal fever.

Kaa only ever talked about his father while they trained out in the clearing an hour's walk from home. The topic always gave Kaa a certain superhuman strength, one that Rali learned to recognise as desperation and an old wound continuously reopened, over and over. Rali watched him and saw the way he used those old memories to harden himself, to push himself into crying out "One more time!" even though he was perspiring and trembling from exertion. Rali realized that Kaa, like Yasmine, had no choice but to carve a living out of even the most brutal environments. They were forced to be resourceful in the face of drought and famine, forced to make everything out of nothing, and it was there that their true strength lay.

Kaa and Yasmine seemed to carry themselves like rusted blades — weapons with flaking outsides, but with the knowing that where the corroded metal bit at exposed flesh, infection could set in. Even the tiniest nick could overwhelm an entire body. Even the poorest weapon could still wound.

Rali too, wanted to be a weapon just like that. Every night, he reminded himself of the strange man he saw framed against the twilight sky. He replayed the scene unendingly in his head, marveling at the certainty and grace with which the man had moved. Carefully, he would recall the determination that glittered in the silver pools of the man's eyes.

One day he would too become as brave. One day.

The days turned to weeks and then to months. Rali grew darker, stained by the desert sun, and learned to be grateful for whatever Yasmine could set before him on his plate. He grew taller, leaner, and his body spared no expense to fat and instead built muscle and sinew.

Despite it all, it was still the face of the Duke that stared back at him from dull pots and pans. It bothered him, but when he mentioned it to Yasmine, she only laughed and ran callused fingers through his hair, saying, "Do not let anyone hear you, Rali. Not because you must be grateful for what you have, but because they will use your weakness against you."

Her smile grew tired, and weathered at the edges.

"Why you think I always look happy? Why you think my bird always so tough on outside?"

Rali understood. "Only the strong survive."

"Ya, Rali. Death see you can fight back, it leave."

It was this mantra that guided Rali out of his childhood, past puberty and into his teens. Rali was an extra mouth to feed but it was almost as if Yasmine had already claimed him as her son; every time he so much as breathed the idea of leaving home, she would descend upon him in a foul mood and an even fouler mouth, demanding — even _commanding!_ — him to stay. So Rali lent them his hands, gathering more herbs and trapping game, while Yasmine knit and crafted, and all their goods they brought to sell and barter in the weekly market. Rali made friends slowly at first, for the other children feared his strangely hued skin and golden hair, but Kaa stood up for him and soon he was as popular as his brother. Still he hid in the rice cupboard until the guards no longer came, and when the day finally arrived, it was as if the Duke had never bore a child.

He grew so lanky and tall that even Yasmine had to look up to make eye contact, and it wasn't long before Kaa himself remarked, "You look nothing like the coward I saw in the square."

"I wasn't a coward back then," Rali retorted.

Kaa whistled nonchalantly. "Cowardice comes in many forms."

"You didn't fight back either! You're a coward in your own way."

"Rali, you last time one of them, you don't know." Kaa snickered. "Sometimes fight also no use. And now you run away, I thought you say you want to fight them?"

Rali looked away. "Running away is also a fight."

"Sure. Keep saying that to yourself."

"And sometimes you don't need violence to win," Rali gave his brother a pointed look. "The Ariantians taught me that."

Kaa pursed his lips, contemplating. The boy had also grown, but not as rapidly as Rali, though he too was sinewy and lean. Kaa sometimes reminded Rali of a child, the way he sulked and pouted; but sometimes Kaa reminded him of a boy who was forced to grow too quickly — a lost child trapped in a body made for hard work and no rest.

This time, Kaa relented. "Ah, whatever you want to think, ya."

Life was uneventful in the years to follow. Time was hard to keep track of, especially when numbers and milestones meant little in the sand. Rali was roughly seventeen or eighteen when Yasmine and Kaa sat him down at the dining table. He was so tall that he towered a head over them even seated, and he realized that time had not been kind to his foster mother; she had rings around her eyes from worry and her face was deeply engraved with lines.

"Rali, bird and I already talk. Want you go Orbis, go to school."

He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"You smart, not like bird, so stupid. Only know how eat and get into trouble."

"Ma!"

"Is true, you shut up. Now, Rali," Yasmine reached over and clasped his hand, and he realized his fingers were icy. "You come from good place, is unfair if desert take away what you at first were given."

"I've," he said dumbly. "But. No, I can't—"

"Don't be stubborn! We live fine with you, we don't need you around." Kaa snorted. "So annoying, so big. My room so small when you inside!"

"But I've got plans," Rali protested. "I was planning to…"

Kaa and Yasmine fell silent, watching him intently. It sounded weak even in his head. It was why he never gave it much thought, all he knew was that he needed to save enough for a ticket out of this godforsaken place, so he could bring a neutral mediator back here. A policeman, maybe. Or a government official. But would they even care about the truth, when they could be bribed with gold or lithium gems?

Yet school was out of the question. He'd topped his form every time. He couldn't afford _not_ to. But he had been _relieved_ to leave his schooling ways far behind him. He didn't want to go _back_ to school! What was he going to do with a certificate? Was he going to intimidate them with his mastery of numbers, at his ability to do sums or algebra in his head? What good would he be, educated and cultured, to a society that thrived on violence and crime?

"Listen, Rali." Yasmine squeezed his hand, bringing him harshly back to the present and out of the mess of his thoughts. "There is reason why everyone send children to school, ya. You go, you see what you can do and how you help. First step is to go there yourself."

Rali swallowed a dry, thorny knot in his throat.

"No other family have this chance, Rali. All of us, you see, cannot speak commonspeak in anywhere else. But you, Rali. Rali smart, Rali knows many things we do not." Yasmine's eyes were lit, and the eagerness and hope Rali saw there burned him up from the inside. It made him want to vomit. "You are the key for desert, Rali. You go school and think of way to help us, ya?"

"I… I have no money," he said weakly.

Kaa slammed his fist on the table, making him jump. "Want go school or not? You say you want help us, ya? Even when you coward you want help, now braver, still dare?"

"Yes," he said firmly, even though his stomach was churning. "I want to change things here. I'll do anything I can. Nobody deserves this."

Yasmine laughed, and Rali swore he never saw her so relieved. Even Kaa leaned back against his chair, smiling.

"Good," smiled Yasmine, "We family, ya? Family give you a way."

Soon Rali was packing and ready to leave for home, and no amount of protestation could take anything back. Yasmine cooked his favorite dish in farewell, rabbit stew with carrots and herbs, and packed some unleavened bread in a cloth pouch to tide Rali over the journey to his new home. Kaa had stitched together a leather satchel just for the occasion — they had planned it for months! Without his knowing! — and he wore the best clothes and shoes the family owned.

He felt small, unworthy of whatever kindness they were giving him, and he wanted to return it all and take his word back so he could continue living the peaceful life he was already so accustomed to. He loved it here, for it was here that he could rest easily and with unwavering certainty that he himself was loved and cared for. He had never known such charitable kindness or such selfless love and he was loathe to give it up.

Especially when the ticket to Orbis was paid for by the small sum of money that they'd received in compensation for the passing of Kaa's father. It was an almost unbelievable sum, to those in Ariant — a few handfuls of golden coins. Rali had almost forgotten how it'd felt to own more money than he knew what to do with. The shiny, polished coins had since remained untouched in a tightly sealed pottery jar in the rice cupboard and Yasmine had to smash it open with a stone hammer to retrieve it. She insisted they had enough to live by, and after all, their entire family knew for years that Kaa didn't have a snowball's chance in hell there, so why not spend it on Rali? Rather than protesting, Kaa agreed and said he'd rather work in the mines, just as his father had. School and tables and homework didn't suit him at all.

Rali almost broke down when the clay shards scattered. He didn't deserve any of this, for if Kaa was not to use it, then what right did he have as a boy who didn't even belong to their flesh and blood family? But Kaa pushed the money into his hands and Yasmine glared him into keeping it. How could he say no to their final act of love?

They taught him love and strength, they taught him anger and hurt, and the value of gold in a time of poverty and abject want; but he was going to pay them back tenfold and bring them peace once he found out how.

Under cover of darkness they walked with him to the Ariant docks. It was an hour in the biting winds before a ship arrived and settled at the wooden stands with a groan. At this time of night, he was the only passenger at the station.

Kaa gave him a punch to the shoulder, and Yasmine hugged him for a long while and planted a long kiss to his forehead.

It took everything he had to stop himself from losing his nerve.

"Go, Rali." Yasmine said as she pulled away. "Be brave. Nihal make you strong, and now you be strong for Nihal."

"You have made me strong, not the desert," Rali gripped her hand and ran her thumb over her dry skin. "You and Kaa have taught me so much."

Kaa waved a hand, laughing. "Gross. So mushy. Go before I vomit."

"Bird is right," Yasmine snickered, and the sound made Rali's heart lift. "Mushy is not like you. Be strong, Rali. You are strong."

"Thank you," he said, because he didn't know to say anything else. "I will miss you both."

And so he turned and entered the ship, waved once from the cabin windows as the ship took off, and watched the two figures on the docks with shawl and tattered shirt billowing in the wind. When they were finally too small to be seen, he turned his head forward and let himself a single moment of weakness to shed a single frustrated tear.

Nobody had ever believed in him so wholeheartedly. Now that he had that faith placed in him again, he realised that maybe even he was beginning to lose faith in himself.

He watched the plain sands give way to a vast ocean, one that touched the horizon in all directions and he almost felt faint at how big the world was. Nihal was breathtaking, but the ocean commanded so much _more_.

Surely there must be so much more treasure hidden in the waters. But the though made him bitter and forced him to look away. Just how much cruelty was there in such a bountiful world as this?

The ship rose higher, so high that Rali worried that the captain might have lost his way. Clouds floated by, dark spots where stars vanished out of sight. Where exactly was Orbis? He had heard the Duke mention it once or twice, but had never cared to find out.

As if the captain had heard his thoughts, the ship groaned and came to a sudden halt.

Rali turned, and there at the other side of the ship, towered buildings of white stone supported by the very clouds he was staring at. Beautiful lights glimmered in the darkness, not harsh like a candle flame but softly as if a star were suspended beside a building.

The biggest building in the city was his destination, the pilot told him, eager to get him off the ship for his shift break. It was the guildhouse, and attracted hopeful students from all around the world. Students just like Rali. He knocked just as the pilot had advised him to, and blinked when a fairy opened the door. It was a fairy, because no human had pointed ears or eyes that looked like polished stones or the wings of a damselfly sprouting from their backs!

"What do you want," the fairy said. Rali was taken aback by the hostility.

"I was told that could come here to seek lodging. As a student."

"You're one of those Ariant humans, aren't you?" the fairy peered at him, unimpressed. "Are you sure you want to enroll here, and not in Mu Lung? I hear a monastery there gives free lodging and tuition. They teach at a slower pace, too, it might be more manageable."

Mu Lung? Rali had never heard of the place. He briefly considered it, but then remembered what he was here for. He was here because even the Duke himself graduated from Orbis, and also because neither Yasmine nor Kaa would agree to settle for anything less.

"I don't think you should judge a book by its cover," he said, because it was one of his favorite idioms. He imagined the sternness of the phantom thief's voice as he replied to the fairy and felt a little braver, "And how I settle my fees is the concern of the headmaster, not you. Unless you _are_ the headmaster, then I am extremely let down."

The fairy looked guilty for a moment, and then sighed in irritation and let him in. "Fine. You may stay the night, but only because the headmaster is asleep."

His room was the size of the house back in Nihal, but not as large as his room in the Lucre household. It was supposed to be a humble room, but it all felt like luxury now. He unpacked what little clothes he owned into the small dresser, and hung his bag behind the door, put his vulture feather on the desk (Yasmine said they could turn it into a quill, so he thought it would be a fine reminder of his time back home), freshened up in the common bathroom down the corridor, and sat at the desk for the rest of the night.

Off the horizon, the sun was rising. It was the same comforting red and gold, and Rali gave himself a moment to watch. But it was a different sun that greeted him. It bore no heat, as if the sun had chosen Nihal to vent its anger, and had chosen this new cloud city of Orbis to smile upon instead.

Rali stared jealously at the clouds before leaving for the headmaster's office. He made his way down clean white corridors embellished with gold filigree carvings, ornate yet not in excess. It was a pleasant change from the wasteful overindulgence that characterized the noble houses in Ariant. Rali entered the headmaster's office with chin raised and shoulders squared.

The fairy who had greeted him last night was also in the room, and she gave him a scowl. The headmaster was a fairy as well, as round as the monocle he wore.

"You must be the new student," the headmaster said brusquely, "I understand you wish to join us as a student in Orbis, but I am afraid you lack the paperwork and the funds to do it."

Rali didn't miss the headmaster leaning back as though fearing a stench Rali had brought into the room.

Purposefully making sure his words were clipped and slanted with the melodic intones of Nihalian speech, Rali let out a disgusted huff of air. "That seems extremely unfair, even to an unlearned Nihalian child like me. But no matter," he raised his hand when the headmaster seemed to balk in indignation. "I understand why you think I can't pay the fees. And maybe you're right. I have no father and the only money I have came from the compensation of his death. After all, life is hard in the Nihal desert," he smiled, "And I'm sure life here is equally as difficult."

The headmaster coughed, a sheen of sweat breaking across his brow. "Perhaps I could allow you entry at a discounted rate, as a token of sympathy—"

Rali rubbed his chin. "Since they're all white children, they would definitely rebel if they heard about me, the charity case."

"What then?" spat the fairy beside the headmaster. The groundskeeper probably, from her simple clothing and the spray bottle nestled in her pocket. "You come here and stir up trouble, make use of our hospitality and then mock our institution? Do you want to be disbarred from a good education forever?"

"I would have, if you had insisted on turning a brown-skinned student away from lodging last night." Rali gave her a pointed look, and bit back a smile when the headmaster shot her a look as if to say, _You did what?_ "All I want is education. I hope that nothing will happen to the school's good name while I'm here."

Rali watched as the headmaster leaned back in his chair, shoulders sagging.

"Alright. Let's discuss your enrollment."

"There's nothing to discuss. You have decided I can't pay the fees, so I won't argue with that." Rali cleared his throat. "I know you don't like poor students here, or bad students, right? So how about this — while I am here, I will top the class every term. And if I place second or lower, I will pay double what an ordinary student would be needed to."

The headmaster and the groundskeeper shared glances.

"And if you are unable to pay your debt?"

"You can end my education, and I will remain here as one of your employees until I can write the amount off. You decide my wages."

Rali knew he made it sound ridiculously stacked against him, but it was what made it so enticing. Those who dealt with gold and treasure were all drawn to the same kinds of deals

"Then you have a deal," the headmaster said, and picked up a scroll and quill to write down the terms. Rali signed it with simple cursive, and the headmaster put the parchment into his drawer. "You begin classes at once."

And so he did. He sat for lectures and tutorials, quietly listening and watching, never uttering a word. His dark skin attracted the attention of students and teachers, who always whispered behind his back but pretended he was no different from one of them. It made Rali sick to his core.

He watched the way the teachers used up every drop of ink from their inkwells, and drive nubs of chalk against blackboards until they were ground to dust. The other students could not force him to take offense at anything. He absorbed every bit of information he could get his hands on; a bottomless pit into which everything fell and nothing emerged. Rali learned the same way he ate: ravenously, leaving nothing to waste and scavenging for scraps where students refused to take extra credit assignments.

Exams came, Rali sat for them, and was always the first out of the exam hall.

Three days later, he invited himself into the headmaster's office. The headmaster was setting down a parchment and glancing up at him with a scowl so dark it sent shivers down Rali's skin. Not because he was frightened, but because he had unnerved the headmaster, and he knew he had succeeded. The advanced classes he'd been forced to take when he was still the Duke's son, once upon a time, had paid off.

"I take it I'll be here for another term?" he flashed a brilliant grin.

The headmaster tented his fingers. "You're not actually from Ariant, are you? Your skin is lighter than when you first arrived, and I have heard rumours that the Duke's son had gone missing years ago."

The headmaster's words sent a spear into his gut. A single word from the headmaster could bring the imperial guards bearing down on him and it would all be over.

"Do you think I look like the Duke's son?" Rali ran his hand through his hair so the headmaster wouldn't see it trembling. "You flatter me!"

"You have his eyes and hair."

Rali laughed, and prayed it didn't sound forced. "So I've been told. But I would rather die then be as cowardly he was rumoured to be. Have you heard the tales?" The headmaster raised an eyebrow. "They say even his own father beat him because he was such a disgrace. And in Nihal, we make fun of him all the time. _Kerali_ , right, that was his name? I hear he used to cry himself to sleep every night. The spineless dog couldn't even stop a thief from raiding Areda's palace before his eyes!"

The headmaster rolled his eyes, and Rali knew the conversation was at an end. "Alright. I'm not here for chitchat. You got what you want, now leave. Come back for school next term."

"Thank you, headmaster. I had a lot of fun."

Rali let himself out and made it back to his room before collapsing to the ground, breathing heavily.

"Three and a half more years to go," he whispered to himself. Desperately, he clutched the space between his collarbones, willing the throbbing pain to disappear. "Nihal lend me strength."

Term by term flew by, and Rali learned — and realized that school indeed opened up a world of opportunity for him. He learned the ways in which money was made, where it flowed, how it was used and by whom. He learned that it could be clean, but never clean _enough_ , even to the people who wrote textbooks and old scrolls. He learned that there were ways to launder money but also ways to check its authenticity, and he learned that there were ways to punish where money was dirty, and reward where it was clean.

All this he learned as he poured over books and parchment like they were scripture. He stayed through the holidays, soon making friends with the librarians, and from his favorite spot in the corner of the library he could watch the conferences that were taking place in the guildhouse below. He could hear them too, if he cracked the window open a little, and it was there he learned about the ways of lands far beyond Orbis.

One particular conference, there were so many grand ships docking at the harbor and so many people filtering in that even school was cancelled. Sulky that his favorite class had been cancelled that day, he snuck into the library and opened the window a little wider than usual. Of interest was a redheaded monk, about his age or so. So young, and yet the aged monk by his side tended to let him speak rather than stand up himself. Slightly surprised, he watched as the monk delivered rousing speeches while entire contingents of warriors and mages listened. Even the elusive elven race, heralded by its princess and king, came to listen. It was about some war being waged and magic seals and fortification but it mattered little to him, for the war concerned itself with a world far bigger than that he was willing to defend.

When they finally adjourned for the night, he felt a sting of indignation when he realized nobody gave even a passing mention to the town of Ariant, or the discrimination in Orbis, or any other similar acts he had read about in books and scrolls. Here were some people claiming to be fighting for the greater good, against evil, when they were blind to injustice that lurked the street with or without this terrifying 'Black Mage'. What hypocrisy — and they dared to call themselves heroes of the light, to fight against the darkness. What of darkness when they couldn't even see the shadows cast in the wake of the candle's base?

Bullshit.

He turned himself away from talk of the war, deafened himself to the rumors, and submerged himself in his study. Life went on for him, for he refused to let his momentum be swayed by this new threat to his safety. Finally, his answer dawned upon him in the middle of an ethics lecture and he stood up so abruptly that the lecturer lost his train of thought and fell silent.

"Excuse me," Rali mumbled, and tore out of class. Out in the marbled streets of the school courtyard he broke into a run and screamed to the sun, which was smiling down on him from the top of a vast azure dome.

This is what he came here for. He would turn Ariant upside down. He finally had the tools.

Rali visited his lecturer's office more and more. The visits were halting and awkward at first, but Rali was full of new ideas and dreams of justice, and he knew lecturers were drawn to such lofty philosophies like thirsty men to oases. They clicked after just four sessions, and his lecturer agreed to take him under wing, a specialized student with a clear job in mind.

Nights were spent like days: holed up in the library, pouring over books, memorizing legislature, writing papers and mock continuums, and the school terms became semesters and then grew to years.

Rali was called to the headmaster's office two terms before he was to graduate. He entered without knocking, which was customary for him by now, surprised to see his lecturer there.

"Ah, yes, Rali. Perfect timing." His lecturer smiled and waved him over. The headmaster gave Rali a sour look, also customary for him already. "I was trying to move you to the honors program ahead of time."

"This is unheard of," countered the headmaster quickly. "No student has been granted entry into a higher level course without finishing the prerequisites."

"But Rali is unlike any student I have ever seen before. He has always handed in assignments with maximum credit! And all ahead of time!" His lecturer slammed a hand passionately on the table, and at the sound, Rali broke into a grin while the headmaster jumped in his seat. "I don't understand the rationale of holding back such a brilliant mind when the future awaits him!"

"But he—"

"Sir," Rali cut in with a sigh, "You must understand that the headmaster is concerned with money and reputation. I had to strike a deal with him — I was to maintain top of my class or pay double the student fee, _and_ quit school at once."

"Preposterous!" growled his lecturer, "If you can waive the rules in such a manner to line your pockets, headmaster, you can let Rali's true potential shine. If I am to receive no for an answer you will be receiving my resignation letter immediately."

Rali grinned wider, the headmaster closed his eyes (to pray, probably, though the only gods that smiled on Orbis were the ones that glittered gold) and the lecturer got what he asked for.

It was another year before Rali topped the bar, graduated with first class honors and a certificate of special attainment that stated that he could practice at once.

Rali took the monetary reward, packed his things, thanked his lecturer sincerely, for this would not have been possible without him, and headed for the finest tailor in town. He ignored their glances at his clothes and placed several immediate orders for tailored suits. Then he ignored their gasps and cries of frustration when he demanded it be finished that day. Served them right.

Each was to be brilliant white with gold trim along the sleeves, the shirt hem and his matching cloak; complemented by suede trousers of earth brown that were subtly pleated and lined with fine golden thread. Call him sentimental, but it was a tribute to his time in the mud houses of Nihal, where he had found his footing and never strayed. Final touches were the gleaming buttons that accented his lithe physique and shiny black oxfords that grounded his look.

Perfect.

Finally properly attired, he practiced his best casual smile in the mirror several times, packed a few extra knives into his grin just for good measure, returned all his belongings into his shiny new suitcase, and boarded the ship back to Ariant.

He couldn't get a wink of sleep. He was so excited to return home and meet his mother and brother once again, so much so that he couldn't help but pace along the deck, glaring at the scenery as if willing it could possibly make the ship go any faster. Finally the ocean appeared, and when he gazed at the waters and realized that it wasn't as far reaching as he had thought it was; for now he knew where its coastlines ran and what lands bordered it, and how its people fought like animals for rights to the food and resources in its depths.

Rali went back inside to close his eyes, and only emerged when the air turned acrid, and the scent of oil and ground metal began to sting his lungs.

His first stop was not the courts of Ariant, but the humble town in the Lower Districts. He practically flew down the steps, not giving the palace a second glance, and stopped in the square to catch his breath.

Thankfully it was a cloudy day, and his suit was so well made that he hadn't broken a sweat just yet.

He composed himself, squared his shoulders, and strode down the alleyways towards his home.

He raised his hand to knock, and waited. Familiar Nihalian floated through the door and it brought a stupid grin to his face. There was the familiar shuffle of feet — Yasmine's gait, not Kaa's — and he knew she was behind the door, peering out at him.

The door opened, and Yasmine met him with narrowed eyes. A chill rushed down his back at the sheer anger that had suddenly manifested in the old woman, even though she had been dried out by the sun, and she looked more frail than before. He could never get used to it.

"What you want, you whitewashed thief?"

Her venom forced him to take a moment to swallow before he could muster a reply.

"It's me, Ma," he whispered, and he watched her eyes fill with tears as she realized who he was. "I've come home."

Yasmine still had strength in her, Rali realized for the second time in his life, as the living daylights were squeezed out of him by the withered arms that gripped his midriff like a vice. They were both laughing, chattering excitedly about life and the little things, like Yasmine's sore knee or how Rali's hands were callused in all the wrong places now. Rali talked and showed her his certificate, glossing over the details about how he finished school so quickly. And then he pulled out the old leather pouch with all its coins still untouched, slightly heavier than it'd been before, and Yasmine couldn't help her tears from flowing.

Rali felt a strange feeling well up inside him as she covered her mouth and wept. She couldn't muster words except "My precious son," whispered over and over as she held his hand as if he were her last link to this world. It was not accomplishment like how he'd topped the class, or glee like when he'd proven the headmaster wrong. It was something new and unknown, and made his insides hurt in an oddly thrilling way, and he realized that this, surely, was what he had worked himself so hard to see.

"Are you alright?" he finally dared to ask when she had stopped crying.

She sniffed and gave him a wobbly smile. "Rali? You still my Rali, ya?"

"Always," he said. "Always your Rali."

At his reply, she took his hand and kissed it with dry lips.

Kaa was out working that night in the mines, just as he'd promised to. Yasmine and Rali ate together, more composed this time. God, how Rali had missed her food. But he also realized that she was thinner than he remembered, the home more sparse, the utensils made of copper rather than steel.

What greater injustice had she and his brother been forced to endure?

"You no worry about me," Yasmine gripped his shoulder warmly, a smile pulling lines from the corners of her eyes, "Just eat. You worked hard."

"I need to do what I came to," he insisted, putting down his spoon. "I am glad to be home, but I really cannot stay here. I'm sorry… it's what I prepared myself for."

"So soon?"

"I'm sorry. I am grateful, truly I am, but I need to—"

Yasmine seemed to steel herself, and a part of Rali hurt at the way her smile grew softer still. "You no need explain. Ma always support. You go. Do what you must."

"I cannot possibly repay you enough for everything you've given me," he said weakly.

And Yasmine's reply was simply, "Repay for what?"

Rali's chest hurt so much that he had to take a moment to remember how to breathe again.

He stepped out after asking Yasmine to send his regards to Kaa and promising to be back in several weeks. He would take care of the family now, as they had done to him so many years ago. They had given him life where he would have died, and now he was going to make the rest of their days easier.

The sumptuous wealth of the Upper Districts was lost on him. Every gem was a key, every streak of gold was a weapon; none of it held any glamour for him except to fuel a rage that lay dormant inside him for a time too long. He strode up to the grandest house along the street and knocked.

A wizened old man opened the door and Rali saw his knees nearly give way.

"Y… Young Master…?"

"Good evening, Giles." Rali's words were still tinted Nihalian as he handed a letter to the butler. "Have you been treated well?"

"You know I cannot complain," came the swift monotone reply, and the man looked surprised when Rali snickered.

"I'll take that as a no, then. Hand that letter to the Master for me, will you? Tell him that I will see him in court, and that if he brings his finest lawyers, I shall ensure I best them."

Giles' face lit, the first and only concession to his elation Rali had ever seen. "What for, may I ask? Not for any personal reason, of course."

"You may. I am going to take down this entire city, and he can watch me undo the work of his colleagues one by one until I work my way up to the top. I've left him for last, you see. I want him to fear me."

Giles looked surprised, and then the expression faded to something unreadable. Rali still recognized it as the one he'd receive from the quiet butler after the Duke had had his way with him. "Is this vengeance, Crowley? Have you stopped to think that perhaps this has consumed your youth?"

Rali wasn't prepared for this reaction. Was Giles belittling his work? Did he think Rali was ill-equipped for the task? What was wrong with wanting to right the wrongs where it had been committed?

Wasn't he entitled some compensation for all the things this accursed town had done to him?

"You'll find my name on the letterhead," he pointed. "I am no longer the Crowley you knew, Giles." He flashed a sharp smile. "Though I truly do appreciate the concern."

And with that, he turned on his heel and left, quickly and personally distributing the letters to every household. Jack in particular paled at the summons and Rali had to fight extremely hard to keep a straight face.

After his suitcase was empty, he headed to a noble inn nearest to the Lower Districts and rented the cheapest room available. He needed some capital to begin, and he wasn't going to spend it on anything unnecessary.

Carefully, he packed his parchments and notebooks into the desk, retrieving a binder with the documents he needed. There were sheets upon sheets of numbers and records of transactions, payouts and profits… He was well versed with these numbers, and by now they had become old friends.

It was these numbers, almost as if they were engraved on the back of his hand, that he brought into his first courtroom. The lawyers on the defendants' side were all unnerved — _Isn't this the Duke's son? Has he come back from the dead? What had he done to himself? Surely this couldn't be the same Crowley they knew?_ — and all of this he paid no mind for he would not let anything rattle or shake his resolve and composure.

With the regality he remembered that the mysterious thief had, Rali stood up and swept his cloak to the side.

"Rali for prosecution, your honor — yes, just Rali. Yes, indeed, on multiple charges of corruption, poor work practices, employee discrimination, and tax evasion."

These were textbook cases, but the lawyers here seemed too surprised at the tricks he used and the records he'd obtained that they didn't put up much of a fight. So long had they gone uncontested that they had gone rusty, and Rali with acute savagery and cruel sharpness picked their defenses apart one by one and exposed the dirty underbelly of the business they were trying to defend. He breezed through the first case with swiftness and ease, and after funding the first lawsuit from his scholarship money, families from the lower district approached him at night with envelopes or satchels of money, clamoring one after another for him to represent them. He turned their payment away without hesitation, but made special care to remember what horrific tales they'd told him.

His 'business' grew from there. He made no profit at all, and where families insisted on some form of payment, he set it aside to fund the next case, or sent it back home to Kaa and Yasmine as a token of his gratitude. He watched as one noble business collapsed after another, mines closing or employers going bankrupt after increases in wages or payment of heavy fines. Every family he individually invited to court and declined talk of private settlement, for he had sworn to bring all of them to justice with non-violence, showing them that one day the law would catch up to them and treat them with no mercy.

In the Lower Districts, life blossomed. With money they could now enter the markets on the outskirts of town, and even trade with neighboring lands like Magatia and Leafre. Food grew plentiful, and Rali saw it in the people and the lands. Barren mud turned to green and into colors, where flowers burst forth and new shoots put out roots and basked in the warm Nihalian sun. Children gained the energy to play, and the streets were now filled with sounds of life, laughter and chatter as neighbours got reacquainted without fear of brutality or punishment. Rali had never seen anything like it, and from his room in the inn he watched as the Lower Districts evolved seemingly in the blink of an eye, lined with colorful fabric and decorations, paintings and murals, paved roads and even the glitter of jewelry on wrists and ankles.

And most of all, their smiles were so brilliant that Rali could never resist smiling along.

Rumours spread, as they always had, for everything in the desert was ravenous. Good news, after all, was food to the ears and soul. There was a new phantom thief. A master of all thieves, in fact. One who fought in brought daylight in the battlegrounds of the Upper Districts, inviting nobles into his den and wrenching their wealth from their helpless grasps. This Master Thief was here to save the city, the redemption of Nihal's decades-old prayers.

It was high praise, and when Rali heard it uttered in the courtroom, he knew his time had truly come.

One day Rali returned to his simple room after an entire afternoon of hard battling — lawyers were so desperate that they were beginning to fortify their defenses, but it wasn't anything that Rali couldn't deal with yet — when something caught his eye.

It was a mural drawn in chalk, bold lines that had surely been laid down by the hands of children, depicting a man with blond hair and toffee colored skin staring grandly into the distance, while noble men and women cowered in the corners of the picture.

Rali's cheeks hurt from the grin that spread across his face, and realised also that it was the first time he had seen his likeness and been proud to recognise it as his own.

"It's a good drawing, isn't it?"

The voice behind him made him jump and he spun around, shocked. There was a man sitting on the windowsill at the other side of the room.

Even before he recognized the silhouette, the voice had unseated something inside him. So long had he only heard this voice in his memories that to hear it once again sent a sweet chill across him.

"It looks like you," continued the thief without missing a beat, the silhouette of the bird mask's beak dipping in approval as Rali composed himself and schooled his expression. "I see less of the Duke than your own visage."

Rali forced a smile, resting easily on the balls of his feet. He gestured. "Oh? No, no. Now if only I had a penny for every time I—"

"A lot more generous too. It's kind of you to help Nihal this way." A silvery eye caught the twilight rays, glittering shades of pearl. "I expected you to find out by now, but I suppose a reminder wouldn't help."

The smile faded from Rali's lips.

Once again he felt like Crowley, transfixed as though suspended in a block of ice, the very depths of his soul laid bare for the thief to pick apart.

"Take it from Ariant's original thief, kid. Giving the wealth of the rich to the poor? Righting wrongs? Justice? Those are just dreams, bedtime stories to comfort shivering kids at night. Just like Robin Hood. You've heard of him, I presume."

"I am no Robin Hood," countered Rali, the sting of indignation growing, drawing sustenance from his two decades of anger and frustration. "But I will do what's right."

"I know, and that is why I'm _warning_ you — Robin Hood ought to remain a mere fairytale." The burglar stood and his velvet cloak billowed heavily in the spring breeze. "Nothing good can come from a thief who shares the things he steals."

So he had been chasing paper dolls all his teenaged years. His idol was no idol at all, but a selfish petty criminal who took what he wanted, when he wanted, and kept it for himself.

And this was why Ariant had such famous threats of a Thief… and yet the people remained in poverty. This crook had no intention of bettering the lives of others! He was equally as selfish as the rest of the nobles — no, even more so! For the nobles had at least put in effort to obtain the wealth they wanted.

This thief would rob the poor if he could.

Rali realied he was grinding his teeth only when he opened his mouth to speak and his jaw ached. "What do you know about sharing? You've probably been hated all your life, haven't you? Never to experience kindness, or love? Maybe never even pity—"

"I've kept Nihal safe for decades." The thief's voice grew hard. "You're going to destroy it."

His eyes were hidden in the harsh shadow cast across his face, but Rali could more than feel the thief's rage bubbling forth, molten gold escaping from a vat of tin.

"Yes, hearken back to the good old days! That's what the rest of the nobles like to do too!" yelled Rali, undeterred. He jabbed a finger out the window, at the fiery sun lowering itself behind muddy houses. "Have you ever even _seen_ the kind of lives they lead? Do you dare tell me you wouldn't help them at all?"

At this, the thief let out a strained, gasping sound.

Rali realised it was a laugh, so tight and painful it sounded that it made Rali's hair stand on end. Could humour suffocate a man? Perhaps if he cracked enough wry jokes, he'd be able to make the damn thief collapse from asphyxiation.

"Last warning, kid. Don't steal my limelight. Thieves don't take well from being stolen from," smiled the thief after he had regained his breath, "And it'd be a lot more convenient for everyone if you left before daybreak tomorrow."

Rali would've snapped something in reply, but the thief had vanished, as if melting into the night itself. It wasn't long before the stars came out and the desert frost began to permeate the air. Rali didn't remember when he started pacing, but he didn't stop until the cold retreated and the warmth of the sun soaked into the room once more. The ice inside his very core remained though, and Rali wished he could reach inside and gouge it out before it consumed him whole.

Rali knew the thief was a liar, but it was the oldest trick in the book. Claim a threat to be there when there actually wasn't any to fear at all. Rali knew what he had to do and listening to the thief could not afford to make it on the list. So when noon rolled by, he picked up his suitcase and headed for his next summons, head high and confident as he had always been.

What greeted him shocked him so much that he was forced to a halt. Five new lawyers at the defendant's table, in sleek black suits, their gazes an almost perverse rendition of the hunger that he used to see on the faces of the Nihalians years ago. The judge too was a new one, sterner and even paler than the one who preceded him.

And they had already spent the morning destroying every last sentence of the laws that Rali had built his cases around.

He was mauled brutally in court that day, and for the first time when the gavel crashed, Rali was the one with despair writ across his face. It was the first time he stepped out of that courtroom with less money than he had when he entered, and he could barely contain his fury.

How had a new set of mandates been set in place so horrendously swiftly? No unbiased court of law would have stood for such an unorthodox and hasty action. When the lawyer realised what had surely fuelled the action, he couldn't help but slam a fist against the whitewashed walls in his rage.

Gold. Gems and precious stone. Promise of wealth and prosperity. Surely the old judges and lawyers had to be bribed into revamping the judiciary and stepping down for new bloodthirsty lawyers to take their place.

The hand holding his suitcase shook.

He could still salvage this. There would always be something he could do to pick it apart. Kaa and Yasmine had taught him to make the best of everything he was given. And he was going to do just that.

But no matter how hard he looked at the new laws or analysed them line by line, he found nothing to work with. If he did they were too insignificant; minutiae that held no weight and did the same damage as a pin poking through paper.

Sleepless nights ate at his mind, wearing him down. Stress and sheer fury drove him almost to the point of insanity, and the room in the noble inn grew more cluttered, a wreck of parchments and folders flung indiscriminately to the far corners and every available surface he could find. The hours blended into days and then several more, all thought of food and sleep abandoned for hope of retribution.

Rali stopped going to court after his second loss. How could he even hope to win now? The cases that he'd scheduled were dismissed at his absence, and new talk spread that the Master Thief had been defeated. Rali was stirred from his daze of sleeplessness and bleary reading when shouts of English floated through the window.

Dark skinned children were scampering back into the shadowy alleyways as pale teenagers sprinted after them, one of them dashing a bucket of water against the chalk mural.

He had to cover up the window with more paper lest the ache in the middle of his ribcage ate him inside out.

On the fifth day of his stupor, Rali opened his eyes when he felt a ray of sunlight caress his skin for what felt like years. He peeled himself from his desk with effort, realizing he had fallen asleep at some point and was too tired to sit up straight. His arms were trembling.

Someone was tearing the paper down from a window facing the Upper Districts, and that someone was setting down a bowl of clear broth in front of him, uncaring that paper was covering the entire surface.

"Eat up, kid," was the last thing he heard before he passed out.

He dreamed of many things, but could remember none of them when he awoke. The air no longer smelled, and he was lying down comfortably with a cool towel across his head.

He was in a room with a ceiling so high it could've been a cathedral. He strained to sit up but a hand pushed him down roughly.

"Imbecile."

With effort, Rali recognized the perfectly unaccented voice of the thief. A spoon was lifted to his lips and he swallowed whatever was tipped into his mouth.

 _Where am I?_ he tried to say, but it came out a fit of hoarse spluttering and coughing.

"Shut up and drink. You've caused me enough trouble already." The thief didn't have his mask on, but it was twilight and the shadows obscured his face so Rali couldn't make anything of what he saw. "Open your mouth wider, damn it, am I supposed to coddle you any more? Do you want me to sing you a lullaby as I feed you with a teaspoon?"

Rali tried to work his jaw, but it wouldn't respond. Something snapped inside of him and Rali realised he had tensed all over and breaths were forcing themselves out of him. Finally it had dawned on him that he could do nothing against a city and a set of laws that were purposefully stacked against him, and against the people he tried to save.

Now surely he had given the nobles more than enough reason to take their humiliation out on a people who had done no wrong.

He resisted the urge to let tears flow. He would not let it break him. He did not deserve to cry. He was no hero. He was a fool—

A hand ran through his hair and he realised the thief was still beside him, watching intently. He tried to turn away to hide his expression, and the grimace that was surely there but he couldn't feel, but he was so physically and mentally weakened that he couldn't begin to gather the strength. He could not make head or tail of what he was murmuring, and didn't know if he was making any sense at all.

"You're delirious," stated the thief, and for the first time his voice was gentle. "Sleep first, get stronger later."

This time he had no dreams, and he was alone in a haze of darkness, where no light could permeate. It stretched on for miles in every direction, no matter how far he ran. But when the darkness finally lifted from his eyes, he found that he could move and there was no hand pushing him down when he sat up.

Seated on a chair reading was the thief. He set down his book when he heard Rali moving, and for the first time Rali could get a clear look at him. His hair was pulled loosely in a ponytail, and was almost completely white with dashes of coal dust as though he'd been pulled from those coalmines just an hour ago. Rali had mistaken the thief's eyes for silver at first, but in good light he realised they were actually faded, like a thin sheet of black glass. There were lines across his face, not only from age or from smiling like Yasmine, but the heavy-set gashes that were scoured there by frowns and stress. The thief did not look aged or weak, but weary, and Rali had no doubt that he had seen too much in his time.

"Awake at last, sleeping beauty?" he walked over and stood over Rali, casually studying him. "Planning on staying here much longer?"

Rali sat up with difficulty, trying unsuccessfully to blink away a headache. "Here? … Where…?"

"My place. You've been here two days and two nights, eating and drinking my food!" the thief snorted derisively and turned, striding towards grand velvet curtains just beside Rali's bed. In fact, the entire room was studded with fixtures of various precious materials, all finely carved and even more meticulously dusted and polished. All that glittered was indeed gold. It put the noble houses in Ariant to shame.

And it made Rali's stomach churn to see such selfishness.

The old thief gently pulled the curtains open, revealing an overcast sky. "I need to show you something. Look."

Rali sat up straighter carefully and realised that the ground was nowhere to be seen.

"We're flying!" he yelped in shock, and it sent him into a spurt of coughing and wheezing.

"We are indeed," deadpanned the thief, snapping his fingers to get Rali's attention. "Focus here. I can't stay so low for long. Tell me what you see, kid."

Rali rubbed the tears away from his eyes, stilled his breathing, and strained to look.

Mud houses greeted him, streaked with black soot and crumbling more than they should; a great civilization slowly forced to its knees. Rali's heart plummeted as he made out soldiers dressed in white, lining the periphery that separated the Lower districts from the Upper. They all held guns. And once again the square was empty, devoid of any scrap of color save a familiar darkish brown that was no voluntary spill.

"They rioted, you know. You let them think they stood a chance on their own." The thief smiled wanly at the window, eyes distant. "Or, at least, they tried. Didn't even last an hour. So many died that the Nihalians were forced to burn the bodies. It was a sorry bonfire."

Rali looked away, barely able to keep tears from spilling. He felt faint from the realization that he had brought all of this upon them and if he'd never meddled, things wouldn't have deteriorated this horrifically fast —

"You're a pathetic excuse for a hero, you know that." The thief leaned against the window, facing him. Without the silver hooked mask on, he looked kinder somehow, softer around the edges. But his words were knives, laced with poison, and they struck Rali in places he didn't know he could feel. "You were the dark horse of Nihal, but now you attract too many hunters. The ones who fall in your stead are the ones who cannot run as fast. Everything is your fault."

"Are Kaa and Yasmine safe?" he gasped, because he didn't have anything else to say. If there was anyone he wanted to protect more than then entirety of Nihal, it was his mother and brother. Perhaps there was a chance, since they both were so incredibly clever…

"You want to save the desert and liberate these people, don't you?" the thief continued as if Rali had never spoken, "You want all this to end and you want to see it happen?"

He fell silent, waiting for a reply. Rali gritted his teeth. Of course! What more could he have given his entire life to? He had given up everything for Nihal. Without the desert and those he called friends and family, he had nothing left. He was the desert as much as the desert was now him.

But he had nothing left. His clever tricks and full-proof strategies meant nothing in a system that didn't need liberty or equality to function. All his lofty ideals of goodness had gone to shit. He simply couldn't win.

Again without waiting for a reply, the thief waved a hand. "Well fine. You will have to do. Get up."

"For what? What more do you want of me? Are you going to throw me out after dragging me back?" he spat hoarsely. "I am inept! I am more harm than good! Even you look at me with such scorn! What use am I to anyone, let alone the hundreds who need me?"

He didn't even have the time to react before the thief's cane was out and pressing against his neck. Its golden tip moved slightly as his throat bobbed.

The thief's eyes were cold. "What do you know of the desert? You think you are their salvation, do you? You think you're better than any of us just because you come from a better place? Do you still think you have the _right_ to mull in your own self-pity?"

"I— no," Rali gritted out, "At least I'm better than a thief who takes and doesn't give back!"

"You might look down on me, but remember, kid. I've been around decades more than you have. I've seen the way they work. Do you not remember, _Crowley_?" The thief grinned, and Rali's eyes widened. It was the same kind of smile that he'd seen on the faces of those of the Upper district. How had the thief known…? "The day you stood up for the meek and got trampled to nothing in the dirt? They stamp out any bit of resolve and protest in their subjects until there is nothing left. There is no war to be fought when all we have are sandals and they are armed with boots! You are a fool if you think you can win!"

"I can't do it alone! It's true! But no war can be fought alone." Rali raised his voice. He would not be pushed down like this. "I could get help, I know a conference where —"

" _There will be no war here in Ariant!"_ The thief roared, flinging the cane aside so savagely that the carpet seared open where the weapon clashed against the floor. Rali's rage was a mere flicker of candlelight against such carnal fury. "Not a single soul in Nihal will survive! You have to lure them into false security, let them think it is safe to leave their gates open in the night, and then steal in and poison their food, or strangle them, or snap their necks."

"Then I'm not cut out for it," said Rali, looking away. "Find someone else."

"On the contrary, you little shitstain." The thief folded his arms. "You are so broken apart that there is nowhere left for you, except for you to follow in my wake. I will show you the true value of gold, as not only something to be coveted in excess, but how it may also be a weapon in its absence."

Rali felt the words die in his throat. This thief seemed crazy, but he spoke with a weight and a knowing that drew Rali to him like moth to a flame. It was the promise of _justice_ , he realised. Justice that still may have hope now that his own strategy had been reduced to mere laughingstock.

The thief noticed his hesitation. "Get up!" he snarled. "Take your sorrow and your disgusting self-pity and never let it go. Remember your mistakes, every one of them! How strong a person is can only be seen by their worst scars."

Rali snorted, but it was probably true. He truly had nothing left now that his weapons no longer worked. Perhaps it was time for a new strategy.

He took a deep breath and let himself believe, for those precious few moments, that even the best warriors would hold back until they found the perfect time to strike.

Rali pushed himself out of bed. His knees were weak and barely supported his weight, and it was all he could do to stop himself from keeling over.

After the world had stopped listing he straightened and met the thief's gaze as well as he could.

"First things first, kid." The man held up a finger. "Names have power. You don't get to pick a ridiculous name for yourself while you're this hapless."

 _Names had power_. It was what Kaa had told him when they first met, and Rali knew the truth behind those words. Those who lived in the desert truly all lived by the same few survivalist principles, and now Rali hadn't the slightest doubt that Raven was a man who'd been forged by those violent winds and coarse sand.

"Fine," he relented. "So should I change my name? Drop another syllable? From Kerali to Rali to what, Ra? The name of the sun god?"

Raven ignored his indignation. "Just ditch the Master Thief drivel."

Rali knew it was a jibe at his ego, but he couldn't resist flinging back a barb in reply. "If you don't want to be called the Master Thief, whatever shall I call you, Sir?" murmured Rali, barely stopping himself from rolling his eyes.

"I prefer the old days when they called me the phantom thief…" The old man smiled. "Though those who know me personally call me Raven."


	3. The phantom

The phantom thief truly lived up to his name.

Rali had heard of the man before, but only as legends carried on the winds and on the lips of mothers trying to put restless children to bed. The phantom thief was a shadow that never turned away from things that glittered, and was never turned away even by the most sturdy locks. Nobody had seen his face before, even though he'd always grace his victims with his presence, just enough to recognise his form and not a second more. He was an urban legend: a silhouette, a silver mask tilted up proudly to the night sky, a card raised with his other hand in lieu of goodbye.

"The phantom thief will be the hero Nihal needs," he'd heard so often when he was younger.

Indeed, the phantom thief was a man of equal parts grace, mystery, and vengeance combined.

Rali soon found that out in sparring matches when his cane could only ever cleave through thin air, and Raven was never within reach.

"Arms in!" the spry old thief would yell, those pale eyes always searching for the weakest point in Rali's form, "Cane straighter! Where is your momentum? You're not locking your wrist!"

Just as the rumours had said, there was something mesmerizing about seeing the phantom thief in motion. It was like watching a deck of cards flow from hand to hand, a seamless blur of movement that enraptured the gaze. A flash of magic here, a flick of the glittering cane there, and the thief could steal the balance from under Rali's feet and send him sprawling, finding the tip of Raven's weapon pointed at the space between his eyes.

"Again," Raven would demand flatly, withdrawing his weapon, and Rali would haul himself to his feet.

Raven taught him. Stern, merciless, stoic Raven. They trained endlessly from dawn till nightfall and Rali didn't know what he was bettering himself for. He could only imagine it was for some grand heist, but Raven didn't speak or breathe a word about anything of the sort. Something told him it would be better for him to wait.

It was almost as if Raven had picked him up from the side of the road just to test him and see what he was made of. Yes, that's right — everything was just one big trial, for something he couldn't for the life of him imagine.

He watched Raven vanish on certain nights and return with handfuls of gold and treasure. He didn't miss the calling cards that he'd left behind, the reports of a silhouette waiting to be seen just once before vanishing.

It made no sense to him at all.

The man lent him his next best cane (with a smaller ruby on the top, and far less glitter studded into it), and taught him how to focus the inner well of magic and create a lens to read the threads that hovered around another person. Before long Rali was able to see Raven's magic, hovering around him like ribbons with lives of their own. Or like a flurry of feathers when a bird had just landed. Raven's magic was well-used and yet honed to an acute edge, deliberate and yet almost careless in its execution.

And yet the first thieving skills that Raven had imparted was not anything of the sort. Rali was frustrated to find himself repeating the same movements over and over, to practice hiding baubles at first, under palms, inside sleeves, in fake pockets, under his tongue. He was just beginning to get the hang of it when Raven came up to him with a handful of golden bangles and dropped them on the table.

"Wear them," was all the thief had demanded of him.

"Aren't you going to teach me to hide the sounds, first?"

Raven had just given him a funny look, as if he'd been speaking a different language. And Rali remembered all those years back when he noticed the trinkets hanging of Raven's frame and how they hadn't made a sound. How was he to emulate such refined skill? Surely Raven didn't expect him to be able to do it in such a short span of time?

"You don't use magic to mask the sounds?" he'd gasped in frustration.

Raven had smiled slightly, just enough to know that he'd taken Rali's irritation as praise.

So Raven forced Rali's hand to become even more sleight, his gait to be even more fluid, making up for whatever little mistakes with grand flourishes of white gloves to distract a watching eye. Of course, it was extraordinarily difficult. His steps could never become as silent as Raven's, nor his advances having the same shadow-like presence.

"Why can't you teach me the magic you use?" he'd grumble over the clink of bangles on his wrists. "It would make things so much easier."

"Not everyone has magic inside of them, but I can see yours," explained the thief, breaking into a wry grin, "and yours is pathetically tangled."

"Then _when_ will I be ready? What can I do?"

Raven would close his eyes and say nothing more, and Rali would be left with no other option but to resume his training with his tongue between his teeth.

He trained, endlessly, leaving his life of knowledge and books behind. Here in the phantom thief's ship, he had no need for the laws that guided the flow of treasure and gold, only the training routines that Raven had written. He stopped questioning the strange movements of his wrists and meditation practices, and as a loyal student should, he stayed well within the boundaries of what he had been allotted. His days were an endless cycle of _right leg, left leg, right leg, left leg_ … But without any protest he followed Raven's orders as well as the laws that Raven had staked out for him.

 _Sleep when the sun is up. Walk at the side of a corridor. Never eat your fill._

 _Force yourself to grow for those who can no longer do so._

Being in the presence of the hero he had lost faith in still unnerved him from time to time. At night as he lay in one of Raven's spare rooms, hating to relish the luxury of the soft bed under him, he thought about the thief who had saved him when he was little, and how the same man who had risked his life for him had taken the place of the most selfish person he knew.

And yet it was this same man who held the secrets to bringing Ariant down. Perhaps, mused Rali, it was only through the man's selfishness that he could find out how to bring the proud city to its knees.

Rali kept his mouth shut, head down, and kept his eyes focused on the goal of becoming stronger. Time passed by and Rali paid it no heed, hiding himself in the tiny world of Raven's floating ship, only emerging if the man sent him on errands to restock the ship or otherwise.

Sometimes, Raven would pull him along on heists of his own, too, though Rali was forbidden to do anything else but watch. Raven was a far better shower than he was a teller. Often the man's explanations would leave Rali confused and impatient. Simply being beside the man as he worked his skill and finesse was more than enough, for Rali, and Raven was considerate enough to repeat minute movements that Rali would've missed.

The first time Rali was allowed to infiltrate the house of a noble himself, Raven had watched him with his hawk-like gaze, and Rali had been so on edge that he couldn't breathe right until they'd made it back on the ship with the meager jewelry they'd set out to take. There was no pride his success, not when Raven judged him so critically. It felt more like the end stages of a trial, where a single misstep would have him booted off the ship. Rali eventually got used to it, but it wasn't easy.

It was a particularly dreary day when Raven pulled Rali out of his training regimen. By now Rali had put on more muscle and was even taller than Raven, though the older thief was certainly the nimbler of them both. Rali was, to say the least, surprised, for Raven hardly deigned to accompany Rali for too long; the man was usually off on his own escapades and left Rali to his own devices and training.

Today, as the sunlight streamed down from a skylight in the roof, Raven led Rali over to the grand dining table and sat him down.

"How much have you heard about the War?"

Rali blinked. The war was something he'd forsaken long ago, in the days of his student youth. It felt so distant, and in the perpetual safety of the ship, it was hard to believe that a war was even being waged at all.

"Heard of it," Rali said, unimpressed with the direction this conversation was headed. "Not interested to take part."

"Neither am I." Raven allowed himself one of those rare smirks that screamed that he had something else up his sleeves.

"So you came back in the middle of the day just for a rain check?"

Raven sighed. "Always so impatient." The man stood and walked to the window, and only then did Rali notice how low they were flying. They were approaching the gleaming spires of Orbis. "We're here for our first major heist."

"In the middle of the day?" Rali jumped up from his chair in shock. "What, are you insane?"

"Absolutely," grinned the phantom thief.

Something in the man's smile thrilled Rali to the core. It was a simple, boyish excitement that looked so out of place on the usually stern thief, and made the old man's eyes shine like the first full moon of spring.

He realised, with a slight smile of his own, that he really wanted in on this madness.

Raven's ship landed at the edge of Orbis, away from the main docks. The thief and his apprentice disembarked quietly. Rali scowled at the pixies nestling between the folds of the clouds. He'd studied their behaviours in school and he knew they were trouble if he were to be spotted.

Then he felt a nudge in his shoulder. It was Raven, and the man was pulling on his bird mask. Rali suddenly felt very exposed in the midday sun, dressed in only his suit and cloak, while the man had his cape to hide in.

"You've practiced for this," whispered Raven, with a nod.

Practiced? Practiced for wh—

With barely a sound, Raven disappeared. There was only a shadow in his wake, one that Rali was trained to see only because he knew what to look out for. Where Raven once stood, there were only stray wisps of yellow magic fluttering to the ground like discarded cards.

Rali's eyes widened as the man's silhouette made a quick pace into the thick of the clouds. The pixies didn't seem to notice the man's swift movements at all. Rali was about to raise his voice, to demand explanations about what he ought to do, when he actually recognized the movements. They were the silly leg exercises that Raven had him do.

Desperately, and slightly miffed that he had been one-upped from the beginning, he focused and recalled what Raven had taught him about the lens. How he should be able to break down someone's magic just by looking the interwoven threads it was made up of. And so he could, now that he had a target to work on — he could see the gold threads layered on each other and the very sight stirred some deep pulse within him. It should have been strange, and unimaginable, but it wasn't; it was instead familiar, like the warm Nihalian sun on his cheek, and Rali knew exactly what to do about it.

So he bent his inner power — magic? Did he dare to call it magic? — and moved his feet. He nearly yelped as the world shot by around him, but the fervor of speed had him ricocheting forward until he collided squarely with Raven, who had to catch him around the shoulders lest he fell off the platform down into the depths of El Nath.

"Watch where you're going, kid," snapped Raven, though his lips were tweaked upwards.

Rali made a show of rolling his eyes and would've continued if not for the cuff that Raven gave him across the head.

"What would've happened if I didn't succeed at the skill?" Rali ventured to ask, when they'd started walking again.

"Doesn't matter. You're a natural," said the thief nonchalantly, purposefully looking at some faraway point on the horizon. "And anyway, some questions are better left unanswered."

Despite the airiness of Raven's voice, Rali knew that the conversation would make no headway, and had to bite his lip to stop another retort.

They made it uneventfully to the main town after climbing the endless winding slopes and spires of marble and untamed rock cliffs alike. The pixies appeared less and less often, and instead the chatter of people grew ever louder. Over the horizon, Rali could make out the masts of huge ships and their sails obscuring the sunlight.

"Wait," he hissed, tugging on Raven's cloak. "We can't pull off a heist with all these people around!"

Raven shook his hand free and continued walking. "We can and we shall. Just shut your mouth and follow quietly."

Nervously, Rali pushed away his discomfort and crept alongside him. They came into the main town and kept to the rooftops, and from there Rali had a clear view of the square below. It was completely swarmed with people. Not fairies, but people, in the hundreds.

Broken people.

Rali's step slowed as he took the sight in. There were frayed tarp shelters put up all around to provide shelter from the sun. A few fairies were flitting about, looking slightly squeamish as they worked their magic and closed wounds and mended broken bones. The guildhouse had been converted into a temporary infirmary, and stretchers with the critically injured were being lifted one by one up the marble steps and through the doors. A ways south from there, others were handing out small bowls of food. Rice and dried meat, humble meals, but sufficient protein to help with healing bodies.

On the spire of Orbis Tower fluttered a white flag with a crimson maple leaf, and Rali knew that it was not paint.

"Who… Who did this."

The sight made his heart ache. He saw in these broken people the heaviness of defeat and resignation. The same kind that haunted the faces of the Nihalians after their hope had been ground to dust with bayonets and hard boots.

Was the plague already spreading?

"They asked for it." Raven had circled around to rejoin him, but the man had his back to the scene, choosing to face the skies and the endless drop into the ice fields below.

"Nobody asks for things like this," Rali growled with a glance Raven's way.

"They signed up to fight the war, and defeat is what they got. Look at their sorry state. Even I can tell that they are far inadequate to fight."

Rali ground his teeth, stalking forward. "Where is their leader? I'll knock some sense into him."

He would insist for better training, better equipment, better _guidance_ , before sending these innocents off to war. He wasn't going to let that leader make the same mistake he did and invoke the wrath of evil on a population that was defenseless against it.

He hadn't even taken two steps when Raven's cane was out and pressed against his neck. The man's voice was light as he spoke, but Rali was all too familiar with the undertones of bubbling ire.

"What makes you think the leader is a 'he'?" Raven only pulled away his cane when Rali relented and turned around to face him. The thief's face was stern, the lines of age and frustration appearing on his face once more. "Know your place, Rali. You left your life of lawyering behind. We are not here to play with _politics_. Thieves have no part in an honest war."

Did Raven truly believe that standing up for the weak was about his need to dip his fingers into politics? Was Raven going to stand by and let these unnecessary injustices be waged? Even Rali himself could tell that these were ordinary townspeople forced to take up sword and shield with little to no experience. It was about showing mercy, and caring for the lives of the meek!

"You're every bit the selfish thief I pegged you out to be," Rali said, voice low, meant to wound. "If you're not going to stop them, I will."

To Rali's surprise, the old thief stepped aside.

"So be it." The thief's eyes glinted under the shadow of the mask. Rali couldn't help thinking about forbidden treasures in a dangerous cave. "I can also resort to blackmail, kid. Take a single step past me and you can forget about our heist, and what _I_ have to _teach_ you. Then, you can kiss your dreams of revenge and justice goodbye. The boy Kaa, and his mother? Yasmine, was it? — they would truly be disappointed with you then."

Rali felt his fists clench at his sides. Raven was forcing him to make a choice between doing two right things. How could he ever value a life over another? Raven had already taught him an important skill, how to read magic. He could still make do even without the rest of Raven's teachings. He had always forced himself to find away, and he was certain he could do it again.

Raven watched him struggle. "Just agree to my conditions, kid," he drawled, turning and continuing on his original path without waiting to see if Rali was coming. "You can turn against me later, _after_ we have finished what we came to do."

Heat rose to Rali's face. That option hadn't even occurred to him. It was a perfectly appropriate choice, and now that Raven had dangled such bait in front of him, Raven would be foolish to believe that Rali wouldn't take it.

So he followed Raven unwillingly until they came to the roof of the guildhouse. They had an unobstructed view of the people below, but could duck out of sight behind an out-jutting statuette. Here, Rali could clearly see the grimaces of pain writ across the people's faces, though he pretended he could not.

"So, now what?"

"We're starting our heist. Get your cane out."

Raven hoisted his and held it at arms length, crooking his index finger out. It was just like holding up a bow. Rali removed his cane from his belt and copied him. Raven reached out and shifted Rali's form a little.

"See that swordsman with the helmet? The one with the bandaged arm. Focus on him. Read his magic. Now."

Rali did. He saw swirls of blue overlaid with green, and briefly the wisps coalesced into something fearsome.

The snarling muzzle of a tiger, its eyes burning bright.

Rali was so shocked that he almost dropped his cane, but Raven forced his arm back into position. "Don't back down! Look closer! Understand it! That crusader is the strongest one in here, it should be easy to break down his power."

"What am I supposed to do with this?" snapped Rali, as the tiger's eyes turned on him, as if sensing him from afar. The warrior was looking around too, clearly bothered by Rali's intrusion.

Before the warrior could look up and spot them, Raven knocked the cane from Rali's grasp and pulled them out of sight, behind the crumbling angel statue nearby. "What are you supposed to d—" Raven spluttered. "I told you we were here for a heist!"

Stealing. They were stealing from the already hurt. Rali stood up in indignation. "I'm not going to _steal_ these people's powers! I refuse to _take_ it!"

Raven pulled him down, and Rali nearly kicked a shingle loose in his scrabble for balance. "Are you an idiot!" hissed Raven. "They'll see you!"

"You know I won't steal from the weak! I don't care if I get caught, I still won't—"

"Oh, for transcendents' sake." After checking that the warrior's attention had waned, Raven pulled Rali into the open and held out his own cane. "Just watch me, idiot kid."

Rali would've snapped something in reply but Raven was already moving his wrist. The same wrist movements he had already become so intimately familiar with over the weeks. It was but the work of a single second before Raven had unraveled a single, faint thread of magic out from the tapestry of the Crusader's power without the warrior even noticing.

Raven twisted the little strand around until it had formed a shimmering, barely-visible image of the tiger again. "Look at it. Understand it. _Fear_ it. It is not power that you control, but the ones that others have commandeered for themselves." Raven glanced at Rali, and the man's eyes were lit from the inside by something carnal. "It is not for taking, but for _copying_. Do you see how to do it now?"

Copying? Rali shook his head no. "I don't—"

" _Try_." Raven knocked Rali's cane into position. "Hurry up. It's tiring."

Rali sighed in frustration but did as he was told, mimicking the wrist movements carefully. Raven transferred the translucent thread over to him, and Rali turned it around as best as he could. He was about to let go of it when he suddenly felt it — a drop in his gut, and the realization of the pure destruction this skill could cause. How it would strike terror into the hearts who saw it, the same terror that he had surely felt at the beginning. It was not just power for attacking, but one that was infused with rage and helplessness, taking form in a magnificent shout that could stun enemies with its glory and strength.

"Good."

Raven moved Rali's cane away and the thread dissipated, the fragments of magic returning to their owner. Rali struggled to clear his mind. The image of the snarling tiger was still so strong in his mind. He stared incredulously at his cane.

Could he really copy it? Had he already done it? Maybe if he tried to conjure the same feelings to create a similar strand of magic…?

He lifted his weapon and focused. The next second, his head collided with the tiles on the roof, and Raven was crouching over him looking absolutely furious.

"Are you daft? They all heard you!" The man snarled, glancing worriedly over his shoulder. "The last thing I want to do is have security tightened and chasing us out!"

Rali smiled stupidly.

"But it worked," he snickered. "Just as you wanted it to, _teacher_ Raven."

The old thief pulled back and let Rali sit up, before breaking into a smile of his own. "Indeed, kid," said the man nonchalantly, dusting himself off. "You learn pretty fast."

"I take after the best—"

"Would've helped if your Shout was the sound of a tiger rather than a cub," grinned Raven, showing perfect white teeth.

Rali's face burned. "A c-cub?"

"The smallest, cutest little sound I've heard in my life. Kind of like," Raven cleared his throat and held up a hand, fingers curled. " _Grawr_."

"G-Gods—" Rali bit his lip as the thief burst out into his strange, strangled laughter. "Stop that!"

Raven was inconsolable and his shoulders continued to shake for several long minutes. There was little else for Rali to do but simmer in indignation. Even then, listening to the old thief's strangled laugh made a small part of Rali's insides lift. It was something he had been waiting for, even if he never realised it.

The man finally found his wits and dashed the last of the tears from his eyes. He took a deep breath before coughing slightly. "Right," he said, the tiny remnants of a smile playing about his lips, "Help yourself to the rest. And try not to go all cutesy on me again."

The afternoon passed more quickly than any other afternoon of Rali's life. Raven slowly pointed out each type of warrior — the swordsman, the mage, the bowman, the rogue (they both smirked a little at this), the pirate — and he watched carefully as Rali slowly explored the magic of each one, sieving out the skills he could borrow from.

Even though Rali knew it wasn't outright stealing, it still didn't feel good. It felt like he was borrowing something that others had to spend years to perfect, and he was leeching off the hard work of others.

Just like the nobles he knew.

"Never forget what you're learning these skills for," Raven reminded him, with the piercing gaze of a hawk staring down a trembling baby crow, "To bring them back to Ariant, and do what we have to do."

"I… thought you didn't care for helping the Nihalians," replied Rali dumbly.

Raven closed his eyes, and if Rali didn't know that his mentor was mentally swearing at the idiocy of his apprentice, he'd be relieved to be spared the intensity of that soul-wrenching gaze.

"Listen, kid. There are some things you have to be careful about." When Raven opened his eyes again they were faraway. "Like being able to use as many skills as you can to take, and to make sure you are not taken. And above that, you must shoulder the blame of the sin committed, and make sure that whatever retribution is aimed at you and you alone."

In other words, whatever Raven did, he did with the knowledge that he could not incriminate the Nihalians, who could not possibly withstand further oppression than they had already faced. Rali, like Raven, now could fend for themselves, but the Nihalians still could not.

"Our weapon is treasure," Raven said, silver eyes glittering as brightly as gold, "Because it lets the weak survive another day."

It was a completely different track from what Rali had done. Taking money from the rich and giving it to the poor had simply called down the wrath stoked up by endless decades of greed, and of course the Nihalians could not stand up to such formidable corruption.

"Robin hood should stay a fantasy," Rali murmured in understanding.

He had expected Raven to concur, but had not expected the wound that had opened up in his eyes.

"Have you copied the skills you want?" the old thief stood, shoulders square and proud, chin raised in defiance of the odds stacked against his hometown.

Rali glanced once more to the hurt and injured below, and stood. "I have."

They were about to leave when a shadow moved across the clearing, pulling ragged cheers from the people below. Apprentice and mentor stopped to look, and Rali balked in surprise as a dragon — a real, actual dragon! — circled once before landing at the last empty dock.

Rali recognized the redheaded monk sitting on the reptile's back. The same one he saw during the conference. The monk had grown into a man by now, and was dressed in the finest crimson robes, with a mighty staff clutched in hand. A fine calligraphic symbol of a dragon's rearing head and wings adorned his pearl white shirt. Followed closely behind was a man with pale white hair, a mage, by the looks of it. Next was an elf with long blond hair, and another warrior with snowy hair and dark skin.

They all looked tattered and worn, and Rali had no doubt that they had seen the worst of the war so far.

"Kid, we're done here," urged Raven.

"Wait, please." Rali pointed his cane. "Who are they?"

The redhead walked forward and fell to his knees before a young woman, who had emerged from the guildhouse in flowing silk. Rali didn't miss the way her smile had turned forced, and how she placed a slender hand on the monk's shoulder as the man's expression crumpled into a grimace of despair.

A loud sigh and Raven relented. "Leaders of the war. Someone as learned as you would have heard of Aria, as well?"

"The empress?"

Raven nodded. Rali looked closer and recognized the shell-shaped pendant glittering around her neck, the mark of royalty. The snowy magician bowed stiffly to her and they began talking with glances every so often towards the devastated monk. Not even the Empress' hand run through the monk's hair could soothe him.

"I intended to let you down gently, but I suppose there is no need for that now." Raven spoke, and there was pity in his voice. "Understand that the people at the top aren't always the ones to blame. Blaming gets nobody anywhere, Rali. Not even blaming yourself."

Rali turned away from the leaders, choosing instead to meet Raven's gaze. "What then? How can you possibly get stronger if you don't have something to take down?"

The thief let the question hang in the air for a few long seconds before chuckling. It was not unkind, though the sound made Rali's gut twist. Was the man not taking his anger seriously?

"Every downfall is a chance to get up," replied the old thief, adjusting the hooked mask on his face. "If you are already down, nurse the wounds you have been given. Do you remember, Rali? What I told you the first day you woke up on my ship?"

 _How strong a person is depends on the severity of their scars_.

"Yes," gritted out Rali. "Yeah, I remember."

"Never forget that, kid." Raven turned, and Rali followed. "Each hurt you have been dealt can be returned, but only if you have the fury to see it through. Ever since I escaped the slimy paws of the Ariantians, that mantra has served me well for thirty five years."

Rali understood. The sting of defeat would make those leaders understand what needed to be done, and there was no need for his interference.

The walk back to the ship was silent.

Rali went through the new skills in his head. There were a couple he still couldn't quite grasp, like the bowmaster's unceasing flow of arrows with the force of a hurricane, and the paladin's gleaming hammer with the weight of heaven. They were powers that he couldn't quite wrap his head around, not because they were too foreign, but because they demanded a conviction so intense that Rali was completely floored.

He still had a long way to go.

When the ship began to sink again, Rali sat up in surprise. The light was already falling, so they could've remained airborne with no issue.

Raven was waiting for him when he arrived at the bridge, still wearing his cloak, mask, and dark tunic. This time, he had the glittering ornaments clipped to his mask and belt, and for a moment Rali was stunned. Lit from behind by the dimming sun, he felt like a child again, when he'd been covered in bruises and having his entire worth being weighed by the all-seeing eyes of this phantom thief.

When the phantom thief had exuded courage and bravery in all his glory.

Raven was smiling.

"We're going to put those skills into practice, kid," Raven declared, as the ship hissed and the clouds stopped moving around them. "We're going to do what you failed to do the last time."

"Last…?"

Raven clapped Rali on the shoulder so hard that Rali nearly staggered. "Didn't you say you wanted to take out the Duke?" the man smirked, "Didn't you want the other nobles to tremble as he got his comeuppance?"

Rali broke into a shit-eating grin of his own.

"Why did you wait so many years before this?" He asked, as he struggled to keep up with Raven's swift gait down the corridors.

"You were loitering near the slums, still. I wanted to get you out of there, but then I thought to give you a chance. I hoped that you'd be smart about your lawyering. Turns out my gut was right, and you were a huge buffoon about it." Raven raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "When it was finally safe to approach you again you were dying."

Rali gnawed at his bottom lip. "And what about those skills? Why'd you wait so long to do that?"

"I wasn't going to fly us all over the world in search of fighters in the middle of a _war_ ," scoffed Raven. "Now stop asking questions and be glad I caught wind of the rendezvous in Orbis, kid. Let's harass the nobles until they're driven to insanity and leave Nihal for good."

Rali had almost forgotten how quickly night fell, as if the sun had abruptly changed its mind and left. Beyond the marble wall of the noble community, there was hardly anything visible in the swirling sands beyond, not even the tiny candles he knew that flickered in the mud houses of the Nihailans.

The Duke's mansion hadn't changed a fraction. It was still the same, with four floors and that grand domical roof, the same properly kept garden. However, this wasn't their target for tonight.

The house mansion was slightly smaller, though no less grand. Jack's. He had established himself as chief of the royal guard, Rali had heard, and was recognized in the entire Upper District for his service to the queen.

"Not the Duke?" Raven had asked with some surprise, when Rali had suggested the change of focus.

Rali had shaken his head no. "Can I insist we be safe instead of sorry? Wouldn't want the grandest theft in all of history to go awry because I'm not used to my new skills."

"Is this an ego thing?" Raven had quipped back, unsupportive.

"It is definitely an ego thing. But I won't be leaving until I follow through with the Duke's raid, so don't worry about that."

Raven had taken more one look at Rali before agreeing, and Rali still wondered what the old thief saw that made him change his mind.

The guards didn't stand a chance. Raven always struck first with cards and cane. Rali was always close behind, only needing one glance and a quick breakdown of the thief's magic in action before he had mastered it too. The rote movement was finally paying off, and it almost felt like Rali could match up, in all silence, swiftness, and skill, though Raven still had the most expertise and knew the house inside out.

They ignored the various statuettes and precious ornaments adorning the walls and display cases, and headed straight downstairs. Placed into the wall was a huge vault, just as Raven had outlined earlier.

Raven gestured. "Go. Soothe your ego."

Rali did.

He didn't even need his usual lock-picking equipment. He'd watched Raven undo a heavy-duty lock earlier, and was now able to fit his magic carefully into the gap where a key should go, and knead around until he felt the notches give way. The lock sprang open with little resistance, and it was child's play to spin the handle of the vault until the door swung open and welcomed him in.

Inside lay bar after bar of gold, lined with refined lithium dust and purified lithium ore. Ariant's very lifeblood was here, rotting in the cold insides of a vault after the nobles had wrung all of it out.

Raven helped to set up the teleportation sigil. After carefully lining the room with the threads of the incantation, they stepped back, and Rali was allowed to bring it home by uttering the final words of the seal.

It was then that both thieves heard the patter of footsteps down the stairs, followed by an enraged, "Who's there?"

Rali turned, and there was Jack, standing at the foot of the stairwell and looking horrified. The teen had grown up into a pathetic excuse of a man, he was thin but sported a belly like all the other nobles, one that strained at his shirt in a way that spoke of the denial of his girth.

In the dim light, Rali knew that Jack would recognise him. He heard Raven's hiss of disapproval, but didn't feel anything stopping him even as he moved into the light for Jack to get a good look at him. Sure enough, recognition dawned.

"Good to see you again, Jack," Rali smirked, holding up one of their calling cards and tossing it into the wooden banister of the stairwell. Its gleam distracted Jack for a brief moment, just long enough for Rali to mutter the incantation under his breath, and then they were back on Raven's ship.

The windows and its open night sky materialized around them, followed swiftly by the starlight fractured into a million pieces across gold and violet gems.

Raven and Rali exchanged glances, and then burst out laughing.

"D-Did you see that?" the old thief wheezed. "Damn me, kid! He looked ready to piss himself!"

"I thought he was going to faint. I was trying so hard not to laugh mid-spell," panted Rali, doubled over.

Raven wiped more tears from his eyes. "Fun, isn't it?" the man grinned, eyes shining. "All of the bastards look completely ridiculous when they realise they've been made a fool."

"Fun indeed." Rali caught his breath, chuckling as he straightened.

The two thieves regarded each other silently for a brief moment before Raven sighed and walked over.

The old man was strong, but it seemed like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders somehow. Rali swore there was a new light in his eyes as Raven came over and held his shoulders with a vice-like grip. Raven still had a magnificent presence even though he was a head shorter than Rali, but even that overwhelming aura had disappeared.

Here, Raven didn't even look like a legend, or the hero of his childhood. Raven was just an ordinary man.

"You're doing great. Well, you did screw up big time, but you're alright now. I think Nihal will be fine." Raven's voice was soft. Tender, almost, and so out of place that Rali wanted to snap at the man, tell him to cut it out. Yet a part of him still yearned to hear every single word that Raven was bestowing on him. It felt like a gift. A strange gift, but it was one that Rali was all too eager to receive.

"I…" Rali swallowed and nodded. "Thanks."

Raven clapped Rali on the shoulder once more before pulling away. "Get some rest, kid. We're far from done, and we need all our wits about us in the days to come."

Rali was about to turn to go when Raven sighed and sat heavily on one of the piles of gold.

"I haven't seen the moon so beautiful and full in a long time," the man murmured. "I never told you this, Rali, but it makes me think of my family. Yes, I know, it's hard to believe that I belonged to one before."

Rali remained silent, carefully remaining perfectly still so he wouldn't startle Raven from his reminiscence.

"Strange, isn't it? How I've never mentioned them once." Raven closed his eyes, and decades of pain seemed to pass across his face in a single second, so severe and overwhelming that Rali felt the faint sting of it between his own collarbones.

"I'm sorry," he said, because he didn't know what else that would've sufficed.

"Don't be. I was forced to give them up a long time ago." Raven opened his eyes slowly, a hand going to smooth out his ponytail. A habit that said he was tired. Then the man's eyes met his, and Rali felt a strange shiver go through him. "But now, I'm sharing my fame with you, this irritating, annoying brat of a thief."

"I'm honored." Rali chuckled.

The lines scouring Raven's brow were gone. It made Raven look many years younger, and made Rali wonder what kind of father the old thief would've made before the hurt of his middle ages got to him.

"And, if it's not clear enough, I've always considered you a kid of mine." Raven said, so suddenly and abruptly that Rali dropped his cane. It clattered loudly and embarrassingly on the tiled floors and Raven put his face in his hand.

"H-Huh?"

"Turns out, you _do_ have a long way to go before you can become as tactful as me, kid," muttered Raven.

Rali stammered, "I-I couldn't possibly—"

"I thought of you as my son the moment I saw you bruised and hurting in the Queen's washroom that day." Raven raised a hand to his waist. "You were this _tiny_. And you looked like you saw an angel."

"Not an angel! A ghost!" retorted Rali, embarrassed. "I thought I was going to die!"

"Which you may well have, if I hadn't cushioned your fall." Raven preened.

"That was you?"

"Of course it was."

Now it was Rali's turn to feel like he needed to sit. He lowered himself clumsily to the floor, shaking his head to clear it. "You've been watching over me all along?"

"Like a dutiful father," the man grinned. "Look, that's not what I meant to say. I meant, kid, that whether you are Rali or Crowley, you will have a place here on my ship."

Rali felt a knot in his throat. He didn't deserve this treatment after he had been so scathing. Yet the man understood his drive, and let him roam where it was safe to go. If anything, he would be happy to call Raven his father. Raven was a good man, and one that Rali was proud to associate with.

"Crowley is dead. I killed him a long time ago," he said flatly, just to see how Raven would respond.

He was not expecting a smile so soft it killed him from the inside.

"Even so, _Rali_ ," said Raven, emphasizing the name, "You are what Crowley has become, over the years. I would say that Crowley, also, can be strong."

Rali rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes, ignoring the coolness that spread across the skin as he pulled his hand away.

"I'm not going to call you _dad_ ," he murmured instead.

Raven snickered.

"Understood, _son_. Now go to your room."

Back in his quarters and kept warm by his thick comforter, Rali pondered over this sudden revelation. Raven, with a family? That grumpy old sock actually had the compassion within him to love? It was truly spectacular, now that he thought about it.

Rali would've asked about Raven's family, if not for the bad memories he knew would surely come up. Who were they? Did he have a wife? A son or a daughter? Multiple children? How had he treated them? The Raven he knew, who was crass and couldn't communicate his ideas and thoughts very well, had a pure and sincere heart and that was probably all that mattered.

Raven was not all ice through and through, that much Rali knew. He saw sparks of almost childish playfulness, every once in a while. Today, more than most. How would the old Raven have been like? It made Rali's heart ache to think about it. Raven must have truly loved his family with every fibre of his being for the loss to have shaped Raven into the cold, calculating thief he was today.

Yet, speaking of family… he couldn't bear leaving Kaa and Yasmine behind. His brother and mother were the first true family he ever had, and their heartfelt love was overflowing. He had left his old clothes in the inn, which had surely been ransacked by now, and he hadn't anything to remember them by. Had they missed him? Were they worried after they heard how he had crumbled and gotten eviscerated in court?

More importantly, he needed to know if they were safe after the riots.

He had tried to ignore the ways of the world for too long. Now he was going to try to pick up the pieces.

Rali sat up. Thick red clouds streaked across the night sky, blocking out the moon and the stars. They were still hovering above the slums, so it would be child's play getting in. He couldn't stay for long, however, he knew that Raven would fly into a rage if he so much as caught wind of Rali's sneaking away.

A letter would have to suffice. It wouldn't take a single hour to deliver it.

He dug out a scrap of paper and broke out his inkpot and began to write. Rali found himself biting his lip in frustration. Legal documents he could read, and yet when it came to trying to convey his concern and love for people he cared about, the words simply wouldn't come. Preposterous. Rali gritted through half a page before crumpling it, and countless other sheets went the same way.

It was only when he was down to his last sheet of paper that he forced himself to slow and think, more carefully than he had been doing.

With a heavy sigh, Rali lifted his quill. He wrote briefly of his stay with someone new and dear, who had treated him as a mentor and a son. He told them of the things he had seen and been taught, about drawing strength from the past and never letting that hurt go to waste. He thanked Kaa for his courage and Yasmine for the steel that persisted in her frail body, and thanked them both for a love he did not deserve.

He wished them well, told them not to look for him, sealed the letter in an envelope, and stood to leave.

The gales on the deck were so strong they nearly tore the letter from his grasp. A flick of a card had him teleported down into the middle of the square, where he stood for a minute carefully listening for any sounds of life. Other than the wind whistling through cracks in broken walls and the sound of sand grinding against hardened mud, there was nothing.

Carefully, Rali teleported into the first alleyway he saw, careful to shroud his steps so they would leave no footprints in the dirt. As he circled around carefully to avoid detection, his feet snagged against the occasional root here and there, but it didn't slow his step at all. The place had truly gone into disarray after the riot. If he hadn't lived here for a good ten years of his life, he wouldn't have been able to recognise the broken houses any longer.

Finally, he arrived at his old home. The door had been wrenched off its hinges. Rali couldn't even bear touching it, he just crept in through the window. Careful to mask his steps as he walked to the dining room, he set the letter on the table and weighed it down with his favorite clay bowl. The house was so much smaller than he remembered, and he had to duck his head as he walked towards the bedrooms. There were no more doors — they'd probably had to take them down to rebuild the main door after some inconsiderate bastard drove it down. He could hear two sets of very faint breathing, though he couldn't make out their forms in the darkness.

So many of the old things of his childhood were gone. Even the tattered, faded rug. The house looked so barren and lonely. So worn.

And he had been the one who'd wrought this fate on them.

Rali was going to right it now. He swore it to this silent house and its sleeping occupants.

He was about to use his last card to teleport back when he realised he could leave it, as a calling card. He stared at the ornate amber card, its polished surface, Raven's mask insignia adorning the back. It would give them hope, renew what little strength they had.

But did he need to tell them who he was, now? Would they want to know about his plans?

Was there a need to bring them into his new, criminal life?

It would hurt, losing a family member like that, so suddenly and without anything substantial for explanation. But he couldn't risk dragging them into the mess he'd made for himself.

So he didn't. He focused on the card and vanished, reappearing back into the mess that was his room. He ignored the papers and made straight for his bed, the day's events finally catching up to him.

 _I'm a phantom thief, now_ , he thought absentmindedly to himself as he slowly gave in to the gentle caress of sleep.

He dreamed of many things, though he did not remember a single one.

The crash of a door slamming nearly off its hinges awoke him with a start. Raven was standing in the doorway, clenching his mask in one hand and cane in the other.

The phantom thief had his eyes on the crumpled balls of paper strewn across the floor. His hands shook as he roared, "You imbecile! Look what you've done!"

Rali tried to interject, tried to ask what was wrong, but he couldn't even think to breathe in the face of such sheer anger. It was as if a single stray movement would have the man lunging at him and drawing blood, taking his life.

But even before he could process the jolt of fear that streaked through him, the phantom thief was gone. Rali struggled out of bed, heart pounding.

Then he realised that the sun was rising, but the sky was all the wrong color. It was blood red, tinted dark on the horizon, and there was the acerbic smell of smoke in the air.

 _What had he done?_

He only stopped to snatch up his cane before he was tearing down the corridors. He didn't even stop to glance at the window.

He knew, oh, he knew.

It was his fault once again.

He barely made it in time to the deck to see Raven hold up a card of his own. "Raven!" he yelled, catching the man's wrist just before he could finish the teleportation magic. "Wait—"

"Kaa should have gone to Orbis to study! Not you!" snarled Raven, wrenching his hand away.

Rali's blood turned to ice.

Raven held his gaze for a brief second before the rage faltered just slightly, as if realizing the harm he'd done just with those words alone.

"I…" Rali's throat clenched.

There was nothing more he could say. Raven hardened himself then, and even if Rali knew the words to give, the man would never have accepted it. The phantom thief lifted his card again and dissipated into thin air.

Rali had ruined _everything_.

He clenched his fists, trying to return his breathing to normal. Below him, an entire district of the slums had been set ablaze, and Rali didn't even need to guess which one. It was his fault, all his fault that the slums had been ravaged the last time, and he had done it again this time because of his need for sentimentality.

Still, he wasn't going to go down without a fight. He fumbled for his own card with shaky fingers, swearing after every spell he uttered failed. He was shaking so badly, he could barely think of the words. Finally the incantation worked and he materialized in the middle of the square.

For a brief moment, time seemed to halt. It was the rolling echo of a sound wave speeding towards him and shaking his very bones. There were more screams from the boundary of the slums, and Rali caught sight of the cyan and white uniforms of the royal guard ducking out of sight away from the blast.

They had been watching the slums. It was surely Jack who'd seen him and alerted the guard, and they had been ready and waiting for him.

He was such a fool.

Gritting back his rage, he whirled around just in time to see the brilliant flare of a tiger's silhouette flicker out, backlit by hungry flames. Raven. He sprinted in that direction, already knowing which house to look for.

It was already consumed with flames, a sorry wreck charred ugly black and flaking. The other mud houses had lost their form in the dry heat, and the doors and windows were all strangely blocked up. He saw Raven's dark cloak vanish inside a particularly large crack just as the mud ceiling crumbled and gave way, wooden supports snapping under the sudden weight.

"Raven!" Rali coughed, trying to blink away the harsh soot. He held out his cane and focused, shoving bits of the shattered wall away. "Raven! Where are you?"

He squeezed inside, catching his uniform on shards of wood. He could barely see. The smoke was too thick, and he couldn't get enough air into his lungs. He kept slashing away at the walls until they gave way, barreling through from one room to the next. He couldn't see a single person. He couldn't recognise any of the furniture. It may not even have been the right house any more, he couldn't tell. It was all a mess, and his head was spinning, getting lighter.

He needed air—

Then he saw Raven, crouched over something in the middle of a room. It was a box, small, black, with a comical little gadget on the front. A little clock, its hands were almost to zero. Wires spilled out from the hole where Raven had torn them out, and he was kneeling over it, clutching at the innards with no idea what to do.

As though Raven had sensed him, the man looked up and looked over his shoulder to meet his gaze.

That was all it took for Rali to realise the extent of the noble's greed and the hate they had against the bringers of justice. They had been watching, and the two thieves that troubled them for decades had simply played right into their clutches.

Raven dropped his cane, too tired to hold it up for any longer.

All Rali could think of was how he really, really hated the look of resignation on Raven's face.

There was a single prick of a pin, dropping onto the heated mud floor. The phantom thief flung himself over the bomb, and Rali cried out his mentor's name, both in grief and in despair, but he only heard another tiger's shout, rather than his own voice, or a reply.

The ceiling shook, and the ground collapsed on him in all directions. He reached out vainly, trying to reach his father through the falling debris.

Then came a crack like lightning and a light like the sun expanding before his eyes.

…

For a long while, Rali floated.

The sun faded to evening and then to night. Dark, but not impossible to see by.

Slowly, he found use of his arms and legs again. He didn't want to, but he had to. He couldn't hear the mud sliding and clattering to the ground as he pushed himself up onto his feet.

He was standing in the middle of a perfect circle where there was nothing left except rubble.

The sky was covered with soot, and water was falling endlessly down.

Painstakingly, he struggled to a spot a few steps away. It looked so near, but it actually was very far. He expected to find something. A scrap of black tunic untouched by flames, or a cane, or a orange calling card. But he saw nothing.

He didn't know if he wanted to dig. He didn't trust himself to try.

When finally he saw the silver raven mask half buried in the dirt at the edge of the circle, he didn't know whether he wanted to pick it up. It was covered in soot and scorched on its front, an ugly black stain that he knew could never be removed. It was cracked in places where the metal had expanded too fast, and warped slightly out of shape.

A little farther on, he saw Raven's cane jutting out sideways from a pile of rocks. It looked strange, though, its outline shimmery and distorted, like from an entire watery world away.

It was another long while more before he moved to collect both items. They weighed far heavier than he remembered. Wounded and delirious and so, so alone, he carefully extracted a card from his pants pocket to return to the last place he could call home.

Staring at the rumpled card between his fingers, two very strong, very terrifying emotions hit him. The first was the realization that he had nobody else to blame but himself. He'd lost both his families at once, and it had been entirely his fault. Who knew where Kaa and Yasmine were by now, burned in the inferno or captured and sentenced to a lifetime in prison. And Raven was… Raven was…

He didn't deserve a single thing he'd been left with. He didn't deserve his life, or the kindness shown to him, or his skills he'd been taught, or the ship waiting patiently above him for him to return.

The second was that the blast had decimated something inside him. His mind felt strangely disembodied… suspended, perfectly numb and unthinking, a moving shell with nothing within.

Something inside him had died.

And that had been the man called Rali.


	4. The last hope

It had taken an embarrassing number of attempts before he finally returned to the ship. He almost hadn't been able to muster the words, as though his mind simply refused to supply the spell.

He used every ounce of his willpower left to meditate just as Raven had taught him, but instead of calming his mind, he focused his efforts on keeping his mind perfectly blank.

He didn't think about Raven's last words, or how the man had practically disowned him as his son while still trying to protect him. Or how he had somehow, by some stroke of sheer luck and fate, ended up being raised by Raven's former family. Or how worn out he felt, at having been given everything and then having everything taken away from him in a single instant, how that unfair hand had been dealt to him over and over again through the course of his life.

After he set the ship into motion, he staggered unsteadily to the treasury. The gold and lithium still waited for him there, glittering innocently in the sun now that he'd left the smoke and ashes behind. He carefully laid the stained mask and the cane on the spot where Raven had sat last night. Without their owner they were nothing like the symbols of mystery they once were. They just looked useless and too obnoxiously showy.

He didn't remember what he did after that. Much of his life seemed to pass in a daze, he realised. It was much of a relief to escape from the brutal truth of reality, and instead submerge himself in a banal routine that didn't demand him to face the consequence of his actions. He ignored the crushing guilt that ate away at his insides and was slightly disappointed to succeed so easily. It left him cold, purposeless, and tired. So tired.

He ate when he felt hungry, slept when he felt tired, struggled with nightmares of the sky falling down as and when he had them, and wasted the rest of his time away surrounded by those gleaming purple gems and shining blocks of gold. Whatever comfort he tried to get by staring blankly at the raven mask that had no eyes to stare back, he did not receive. He didn't know why he did it.

He just did.

But he didn't die. He couldn't. He knew he wouldn't have been able to even if he tried. He still remembered Raven's hand sifting through his hair, and his gentle murmur or approval, "You will do." And it felt like a sin to give that up, especially after Raven had thrown himself across the b-… the b…

He sighed. All of that seemed like so long ago, though it couldn't have been more than a few months. Or a few days. Time moved funny when he didn't keep track of it.

Only when the ship had finally run out of food did he hear the rumours. He had worn one of Raven's old, tattered cloak (why the stylish thief had anything like that was still beyond him) and was buying food from the Henesys market when he heard.

"… the phantom thief…"

He didn't respond immediately. There was no way they could've recognized him. And he was right. When he chanced a surreptitious look at the voice, it was only two villagers, chatting as they held their groceries in hand.

"… I know! He used to be so cool. I wish I could've seen him in person." One of them sighed, her voice tinged with disappointment. "But _I_ hear he got captured. That's why he's stopped stealing for a while now."

"Really? I thought he said he couldn't get captured. Wasn't that why he always left his calling cards?"

"I'm… not sure," the first woman chuckled and shrugged. "Though if he's not responding to the Empress' challenge then he can't be that good."

No, unfortunately that wasn't the case at all. He ignored the twist in his gut and turned to head home, when a poster caught his eye. It was strategically placed, in the middle of the billboards beside the local weapons store. The silhouette of a man with a raven mask, his cloak fluttering in the wind was captioned with a million Meso reward.

So little? The treasure in the ship was easily worth a hundred times more.

The more intriguing poster beside it was a painting, a stylized one, but he recognized the likeness at once. She was dressed in sky blue silk, framed by long locks of spun gold, and had the same shell-shaped pendant of royalty around her neck. And clutched in her hand… was the 'Skaia', the poster declared in swirling font. It was a simple trinket, a crimson diamond encircled with a band of simple filigree patterns. Yet despite its humble appearances, it was a gem of infinite power that could only be commanded by members of the royal family.

Most importantly, it was impossible to be stolen.

He felt his throat clench. It was a test from the Empress herself, and even so far away from Ereve, the namesake of the phantom thief had truly spread far and wide.

He remembered how Nihal had been enraptured by the urban legends. It was fitting, perhaps — the sons and daughters of gypsies would surely have been enthralled by the same legends of uncatchable thieves and burglars. The phantom thief and master thief, even though one was faceless and the other hadn't been, had given strength to the people to face the tumultuous odds they were presented with.

He knew that Raven's feats had also expanded across the various continents, and his shadow fell across places where gold glittered. But had the phantom thief stirred the lands here in the same way?

He recalled the shops and houses he'd passed, how their doors had been fitted with steel locks that needed heavy keys, and he knew that Raven had made his mark here too.

It was with a cold, icy determination that he returned to the ship, and decided that he could not let the phantom thief die just yet either.

He cleaned himself up first. The phantom thief was always presentable, clean-shaven and sharp, his stance proud. Then, he carefully relearned the weight of Raven's cane in his palm. He burnished the silver raven mask as much as he could, but the stain was more stubborn than he. He ended up painting a layer of glossy black paint over the entire mask, filling the small cracks with gold and adding his own touch in the form of swirling patterns. It had gone so out of shape that it wouldn't rest on his head like it was supposed to, so he attached it to Raven's spare turban and hat instead, and that did the trick.

He looked the part now, at least. Still, his reflection felt far inept. He had grown paler over the years, the tan on his skin fading away after he'd hidden in the libraries of Orbis so many years. He was taller than Raven, but scrawnier, less filled out, as if he hadn't even hit the prime of his adulthood, while Raven was comfortably at the peak of his abilities.

Even his gaze didn't have the same weight that Raven's had. He looked scared and nervous because he had such big shoes to fill. Anyone could tell that he was still young and inexperienced. Wet behind the ears.

No, no, that wasn't what was bothering him. An old feeling clawed up his throat, one that he'd felt when a smaller version of him stood in front of a mirror and studied his wounds and bruises. It was the Duke who stared back at him now, not Raven. He saw the same darkness around his eyes, the scowl weighing ugly on his brow, the cruel set of his jaw.

It was a face he could never run away from. No matter how hard he tried…

He glanced up to look into his own eyes, and he was so surprised to see a flicker of Raven's gaze in there that he stumbled backwards in shock. Slowly, a grin spread across his face.

A wound that couldn't be healed had been what lent the judgment to Raven's gaze. He had plenty of those kinds of wounds too. Hadn't Raven told him to nurse the hurts he had been dealt, before? That had been the first thing he'd heard out the man's mouth after all.

He closed his eyes, thinking about Kaa being beaten into the dirt. About Yasmine's fury as the soldiers scorned her to her face. About the slums stirring back to life, only to be slowly and deliberately wrung dry. And of Raven's anger at being betrayed, and then the resignation that followed.

When he opened his eyes, it was a phantom thief that stared back.

With bitterness crowding at the back of his mouth, he carefully revisited the movements that Raven had taught him. He'd learnt more about other fighters' skills than Raven's own, though he was sure he could improvise. He scorched the floor of the training room with every card trick he knew, satisfied that his attacks still resembled Raven's. He still remembered the feel of a heavy lock in his palm, the look of sheer indignation that had passed across Jack's face —

Yes, he was as ready as he would ever be.

He was ready to make his move, but not until he finished what he'd set out to do, many years ago. It was short work travelling back to Ariant and walking up to the door of the grandest house in the Upper District. He knocked, and waited for the door to open.

It was an inhumane time of night, so only one person was fit to answer the door, though it did not open fully.

"Can I help you, master thief?" Giles asked, narrowing his eyes. "If you are intending to steal from this household, it would have been wiser not to knock—"

"Giles." He spoke, and was surprised at the steel in his voice. The man balked.

"Crow…" The butler corrected himself. "R-Rali?"

He shook his head. "My name doesn't matter. Come with me. I have enough of you living in this wretched household."

Giles swallowed. The man was conflicted, and he was surprised to see that. Was it a choice so difficult to make?

"My family line swears allegiance to the Lucre household," the old man murmured. "I wouldn't have the courage to deface what my grandfather set out to achieve."

"The Duke and his wife are monsters," he hissed.

Giles nodded, and there was no doubt that he had wrestled with that statement many times before.

"They didn't all use to be so cruel. My grandfather was proud to serve the Lucre household." Giles stepped aside to let him in. "Will you reclaim the fallen family name?"

He could've burst out laughing at the absurdity of the request. Him? Who had soiled his own name many times over, with the sins and wrongs he had committed? He was just… following in his father's footsteps.

He smirked bitterly, not refusing to bow to the weight of this truth.

"The family line dies with me."

He strode up the stairs, listening to the bed creaking as the Duke shifted his weight. The Duke called out, "Giles? Who is that?" and he was even more satisfied to note the twinge of fear in his voice.

When he wrenched open the door, he did not smile when the Duke and his wife screamed. He didn't spare them a second glance as he headed over to the dresser, eyeing the crest of the Lucre family and running his hand gently across the polished surface.

It was such an insult to let this family touch anything precious.

He picked up the badge and cradled it carefully in his palm, undoing the tangles in the feathers as he turned and stared at the Duke head on.

There was no doubt that the Duke would look away first. He had seen too much suffering and injustice, and no way in hell could a rich, pompous noble understand the sorrow and grief in his eyes.

Then, recognition dawned. The Duke opened his mouth and said, haltingly, almost afraid —

"C… Crowley?"

"I'll be taking this," he ignored the Duke and raised the Lucre family crest. "And mark my words, I will come back for everything else you own."

It was just a quick detour to the Duke's study to destroy his desk and all the paperwork within, before joining Giles out on the lawn. He was carefully attaching the crest to his hat and mask, feeling strangely pleased at how the feathers complemented the glittery look he had going on. It was so over-the-top that even Raven would've been proud, he was sure. It would be good for the silhouette, too. And it was a stark reminder to those who clapped eyes on him that Ariant's most powerful family had their family heirloom taken from them, only to have it paraded as an inane symbol of the phantom thief's accomplishments.

Giles came up to meet him, looking like an old cat that finally got its cream. Well, that was new. He smirked and remarked, "Someone looks happy at this turn of events… What happened to that poker face of yours?"

"It's outside my office hours," Giles replied, perfectly deadpan.

He snickered. Now this was the Giles he missed so dearly. He handed Giles one of his cards, and waved his own in the air. Before long he was showing Giles to his new room, and pointedly ignoring all the snide remarks about the showy wealth ruined by soiled clothing and stale food left on every available surface.

"Will you be alright on your own?" he asked sulkily, after Giles finally decided to show him mercy. "I have something I need to do."

Giles sat on his bed with a sigh. "… I will be," he replied, and added a little later, "Will you?"

"Of course." He smirked and tipped his hat. "A phantom thief never gets caught."

Feeling much happier with himself for already stealing something precious this night, he was eager to finally step foot on the Empress' balcony. He had a good feeling about this, too.

The moon was high in the sky when he finally arrived at Ereve. The guards didn't even notice him walking right past them. He would really have to speak to the empress about that. The tiny continent far above the mainland was a kind of richness and grandeur of its own. It was not extravagant, and wealth was spent only on things that needed it: pavilions made of white marble that wouldn't wear in the rain, lawns that were well cared for, humble flowers that lined paved roads, and not a single fence to be seen. It was the land that belonged to the rich as much as it belonged to its people, and was vastly different from the excessive display of cloying richness that so characterized the noble houses of Ariant.

Unsurprisingly, he felt at ease here.

It was a place that was guarded by a holy magic. A kind he had never felt before. If anything, Raven's magic felt like something reviving itself from ashes. It was bold and grand, but also tasted like soot and charred remains of something forced to give itself up long ago.

Here, the magic felt pure, simple. Earnest.

He gave a wide birth to its source on the other side of the palace. He's seen the legendary bird called Shinsoo curled up under a grand awning and dozing lightly, and knew without a doubt that he wouldn't be able to stand up to such power. Instead, he memorized the palace's structure, footholds in carvings set into the wall, glassless windows and arches, handholds in vines. It was pretty, but as a result it begged visits from thieves like him.

He hid himself in one of the oak trees nearby and waited. He'd already spent days like this, watching the empress appear on the balcony and take a seat at the table there, perusing her documents. She was older than he remembered, though he knew just how solitude and weariness could warp a person's expression. Day and night he learned the palace's entrances and exits, the routines of the guards, which ones played hooky and which ones skived, and watched the Empress wear herself thin on visit after visit from her advisors.

There was once he saw that gigantic midnight dragon swoop across the sky to land in the clearing where Shinsoo dozed. Shortly after, who should appear on the Empress' balcony but the same redheaded monk (Magician? Dragon tamer?) he'd seen in Orbis. It was weirdly comforting to see the strength and calm return to his countenance, and the way the Empress' smile lit at seeing him. Once or twice the redhead glanced his way, but he remained very still and carefully masked his presence, and so remained perfectly undetected.

The Skaia couldn't possibly be in the room she so often frequented. It'd clearly be locked away in a vault somewhere, guarded by plenty and he'd have to risk his arm and leg to get it.

Still, all things considered, that wasn't much of a risk.

Tonight was the night he accomplished his goal. It was as though nature itself was in cahoots with him, for the moon made his steps easy to see. It made him more visible too, but it was a pity that nobody was around to see him stride across the marble tiles with Raven's blue cloak and headdress fluttering in the wind. And it would've made a pretty imposing image, with his very silhouette was as a jarring void in the richness of diamonds scattered across the night sky. As if he'd stolen a bit of the starlight away. He liked that.

The plan was to sneak in through the balcony and find his way into the vault. He'd already wormed his way past the seals around the palace, and gotten a good idea of the layout of the rooms within, so it was safe for him to move in for the steal. It was strange that there were the least guards on the balcony. Perhaps they waited in the corridor, giving her privacy to relax after a hard day's work? Whatever it was, he wasn't going to have qualms about that.

He ducked under the archway leading into the room, holding his breath and listening carefully for any signs of life. This late at night, there was no way the Empress was still awake, but he could never be too sure. Still, the night remained silent, and so he pushed aside the silk curtains and stepped into the room, mentally starting to size up the fine wooden furniture, the elaborate shelves and countless books.

And the wide desk at which a slender form was seated. She looked up with wide eyes, perfect circles of summer sky, and he froze where he stood.

 _The Empress…!_

His head reeled. This was not supposed to happen. "What are you doing here so late at night," he murmured in frustration. No matter. She was preoccupied and stunned, and alone. There was nothing stopping him. His hand dropped to the cards in his pocket. He still could —

He did not expect to hear her laugh.

"You came at the right time, esteemed Master Thief," she said quietly, getting to her feet. She was in a simpler gown, though she still wore the shell of a pendant around her neck, and it framed her face perfectly. "A night later and I would've stopped waiting up for you."

Waiting up? She was expecting him? Surely not to make an arrest, because the room was free of magical traps and there was not a single guard to be seen. Even so he still had his cards, and his mobility.

He could still play her game. It was like he was back at the Palace in Ariant again, waging a war with cheap words and trinkets of promises that meant nothing.

"You should really take better care of yourself, you know." He let the silk curtains fall behind him and made a show of looking around the room disapprovingly. "Trapped in here all night, curtains drawn to prevent you from seeing the sky and the stars! This can't be good for you."

"If you think your concern will make me hand over the Skaia, you're mistaken!" Her laugh sounded like pearls falling across a still stream and if he didn't know better he'd think she was just an ordinary young lady, not an Empress with the weight of the world on her shoulders.

"Can't a gentleman express his concern without having his motives questioned?" he countered, with a little bit more flair to his voice now. His heart was beating fast, but for a completely different reason than before. It was a different kind of thrill too, to be sparring with words and egos and facades.

The Empress came around the desk and put her hands on her waist. She looked so petulant and childish that he almost burst out laughing, and had to smother his grin before it escaped and spread on his face. He would rather die than find out what kind of expression he was making then.

"Any other gentleman could, but not when it's the master thief in my study." The Empress said with false animosity. Her eyes were twinkling. "Now, I've caught you in the act—"

"I haven't even _seen_ the Skaia yet!"

"— and I would appreciate that you don't disrupt my schedule."

"It's the dead of night! You're being unfair and unjust!"

"So pushy," she tutted, and he gave her the best scowl he could muster.

It dawned on him then. _Make me hand over the Skaia_ , she'd said. The Skaia was not in the vault, but in her possession. He gave her a tight smile. That complicated things. Now he would have to find a way to worm the information out of her before he could even make plans to seize the gem. She was so defensive, and it was plain that her sharpness far surpassed Raven's. He had his work cut out for him.

"Well, you're not giving me much headway in terms of banter, anyway. And you know, element of surprise being ruined and all that." He shrugged apologetically. "Any more would be impolite, so I suppose the best option would be for me to come back some other time."

The Empress let out a sigh.

"Is that really it? Oh, you disappoint me, Master Thief. I was expecting something more."

He felt his throat clench, and faintly, on his forehead, felt something throbbing. He could almost _hear_ the capital letters of the words she spoke, and to have her emphasize his name (the _wrong_ name, even!) sent an indignant sear through him.

"And how may I please the demanding little princess?"

"Perhaps a light show, or two little ones?" This Empress was a work of art. He swore under his breath. Mischief danced in her eyes, the tiniest of smirks revealing her perfect teeth. "Not anything with the cards, though. That's overdone!" She added firmly, one stern finger raised, "Everyone's seen that millions of times before."

He wanted to push her limits, to see how far her composure could bend before it splintered. How he yearned to see a stray smile, or the split second of surprise that crossed her expression like when he first stepped into her study.

A faint thought flickered at the back of his mind. _What would Raven do?_ Actually, that wasn't the best of questions to ask. His mentor had no time for trivialities like this. In fact the old thief wouldn't have made this mistake in the first place. Either way, Raven would never _entertain_ — his showy looks were meant to distract attention from more important issues, giving a little leeway for the meek to survive for just another day.

But he wasn't Raven, and Raven wasn't him.

He strode forward, mentally going through his collection of skills. The Empress had to tilt her petite chin to meet his eyes, though her gaze never once faltered.

He leaned down and whispered, "The things I do for you," and with a deft twist of a hand behind her ear, weaved the magic from one of his cards into a delicate rose. She looked surprised, though it wasn't genuine, but in the way one would when receiving a present that was asked for.

"Sleight of hand, impressive," she whispered in reply, wrapping her fingers around the tender stem. "Would the infamous Master Thief deign me with his name?"

His breath caught.

 _What_ was _his name, now that Rali was a thing of his past?_

"I have no name," he said, after he realised he had been hesitating for a few seconds more than comfortable. That's right, he was just the phantom thief now, upholding Raven's legacy for the rest of his time.

And damn the Empress, it wasn't fair how upset she looked when she wanted to act the part. "None at all?"

"I am just the master thief."

Wait, no, no! That didn't come out right. That was what the Empress was calling him, not what they called him in the slums.

"Phantom," he added hastily, to correct himself.

With a curious tilt of her head, the Empress raised a hand to cover her lips and he knew that she was laughing.

"The Master Thief Phantom it is."

 _No!_

Oh, transcendents. He was the most spectacular mistake ever to have existed on the face of the world.

"So, _Aria_ ," he made sure to emphasize her name, "When would it be convenient for me to return without disrupting the schedule of your graveyard shift?" He needed to retire to his ship and hide his burning face. Thank gods it was nighttime, and the moon was lighting the Empress' face while shrouding his in shadow.

"Tomorrow I will have the place tidied up a little."

He reached out for the rose clasped in her fingers, and was satisfied to see her stiffen in anticipation. "Very well. But be careful with this rose." He touched her fingers lightly, giving her just the faintest of smiles as he did so, "One wrong move and everything might simply… disappear."

Swiftly, he unraveled the threads of his magic. He knew how it'd look to Aria. The rose in her hands would turn to pink light and then to amber, pulling a gust out of nowhere that left her alone in her study.

Caught up in the excitement and the sudden rush of adrenaline, he landed in an undignified tumble on his ship.

Giles, of course, seemed to be waiting for him. Always ready to see him at his worst, this old man had such impeccable timing. "How'd it go, Young Master?"

He flopped on his back with a groan, letting the raven mask slip from his headdress. "I ruined my dramatic reveal to the Empress by completely and utterly destroying my name."

Without missing a beat, the old butler deadpanned, "But I thought your name didn't matter."

He accepted the hand that Giles offered and stood, scowling. "It does when she thinks I call myself _Phantom_ now."

Giles proceeded to attempt a pitiful effort at strangling his smile.

"Stop that."

"So, Young Master Phantom," Giles opened the door for him and he threw his hands to his hair in frustration. "Do come in. I'll have some tea going."

"I'm not—" He cut himself off and acquiesced, following grumpily behind Giles to the kitchen. It wasn't like he had any other name, anyway. Even if this one was a little bit silly.

That didn't stop him from sulking mightily into his tea. Giles joined him moments later, cradling his own cup. "Just for the record, sir, I think the 'Master Thief Phantom' does have a good ring to it."

It would take Phantom a long while more to get used to his name, but it was the same as all the others he'd lived by so far. Phantom, the Master Thief. The Master Thief, Phantom! It was a lot louder than 'phantom thief' for sure.

But more importantly, he was still left with the issue of how he was going to get the Skaia from the Empress. She seemed like a chatty type, even though she was guarded and enjoyed playing the conversation like a deck of cards. Sooner or later, he'd win her trust, then he'd be able to ask where the Skaia was, and she would simply tell him.

It wasn't going to be pretty, but he needed the Skaia. It was his last play of strength and skill.

So instead of spending his nights with the treasures aboard his ship, he spent them on the balcony instead.

Aria was a means to an end, at first. Every question he asked, every time he beamed, it was a stepping-stone towards something more — the Skaia. The gem consumed much of his waking memories and haunted him at every turn. He didn't understand the urge fully, but he knew it was some form of validation. Proof that the path he'd taken hadn't been for naught, and that he could do himself proud. No, that was a lie. He wanted to do Raven proud, too, to undo whatever disappointment that Raven had felt in his last moments.

But the more Phantom probed for information about the Skaia, the further he felt from the gem. Every step he'd taken was bringing him the opposite direction, away from the promised fame and glory and towards something new: the calmness and playfulness of the Empress called Aria.

It hadn't even been a conscious transition. It consumed many parts of his life at the same time, in ways he hadn't expected and so had no idea how to deal with. Even something as simple as asking himself if he should grace the balcony with his presence seemed to sink him deeper. Was Aria expecting him, that day? Would she be disappointed if he didn't show? What would she do then? What should _he_ do then, the next time they met?

Phantom knew he was doomed when Giles had remarked absently, "How's Aria?"

"She's preparing for a conference again, so she's tired all the time," he'd replied immediately, not realizing the significance of the question or his answer until it was too late.

Phantom did not turn down the herbal tea that Giles brewed for him to bring. It was worth it though, seeing Aria's face light up at the unexpected gift. Never one to let up, Aria paid him back with a lot of squabbling over debts and actions with ulterior motivations, but when she offered him a slice of cake the next night, Phantom knew that all of it was coming to fruition.

Mention of the Skaia occurred less and less frequently, and became more of a running joke. Phantom was perfectly fine letting that happen. He no longer could bear to think of the betrayal that would surely cross her features if he were to take the gem and never return. Even if he did return, how could he possibly have the gall to look her in the eyes ever again?

The Lucre family emblem weighed heavily on his headdress, reminding him what a single gem could mean to someone.

All thoughts of the Skaia aside, the Empress Aria was a solace that Phantom had thought unimaginable. He knew the Empress was cheeky and had a sharp tongue, but he didn't know just how much. When she told him stories about how she'd ran rings around kings or advisors who irked her, she retold her actions in such riveting detail and with such masterful wordplay and suspense that she had him in teary fits every time. He knew the joy of seeing someone powerful humiliated and put in his place, and though he knew Aria didn't mean to do it with the same venom and cruelty he had, it was refreshing, truly, to see it done the _noble_ way.

And it was on the balcony where, for a brief moment, Phantom existed without a single consideration for his past, or the sins he'd have to commit eventually. He simply _was_. There was no need for pretense, no need to press on old wounds or to smile where everything still hurt. Aria soothed over the cracks that ran deep within him. Whenever he joined her on her balcony he always felt _unbroken_. Not complete or whole, but the gashes in his soul stopped hurting.

Phantom had almost forgotten how it'd been like to walk without the sins of his past staining his entire being.

It had already surpassed what he could hope for, but Aria gave him even more still. He would realise this one particular night as he was seated on the banister of the balcony, idly spinning another rose in hand. A real one, this time, plucked from one of the florists in Henesys.

He waited patiently, watching the stars, thinking about how innocently they glittered, their beauty apathetic and ignorant to the suffering of the mortals that they looked down on. The stars reminded him of the things in Ariant that were traded with the same value of water, and since the moon was hidden by the clouds tonight, he was reminded that he was really and truly alone, without his mentor's presence beside him.

"It's a beautiful night, isn't it?" It was Aria, a hand raised to push the silken curtains aside. Her soft golden locks and tender features looked so delicate when they were touched by the moonlight just so. It made her look ethereal, the stuff of his dreams, and he wondered why he never noticed, before.

"Appears so," he hopped off the banisters and bowed his greeting, sweeping his white cape behind him. "Though I do miss the moon."

Aria walked up to his place beside the banisters, taking the rose he offered and then glancing across the dark heavens to find the moon. "It's definitely there, even if you can't see it."

"You think so?" Phantom felt his smile soften as he, too, turned his face towards the space where the moon should be. Was Raven up there, too? Somewhere? Watching after him?

The ache that surfaced in his chest and the heaviness in the pit of his stomach were so strong that his hand tightened on the banisters as he fought it.

"Are you alright, Phantom?" Aria asked, her voice suddenly small and quiet in the night, and Phantom really, really wanted to believe that she knew the kind of loss he'd felt.

He smiled wanly at the space in the sky where no stars or moon shone, and decided that the truth would hurt a lot less when it was shared with two people. "I lost my mentor a while ago," he said simply, still staring, hoping to see glimpses of pearl through the clouds. "He was a good man. He was like a father to me, I…"

The words were so difficult to voice. They'd been hammering at him for ages, but now that he was trying to air them, they were eluding him again, leaving his tongue thick with frustration and pent-up regret.

His hand was enveloped by gentle warmth. He looked down in surprise. Aria had curled her fingers around his, giving a gentle squeeze.

"I'm sorry. It must've been hard on you."

"No, I'm sorry." Phantom didn't want to move his hand away. He glanced up at her from under the shadow of his raven mask. "I shouldn't have given you such unnecessary burdens. I don't know what came over me."

He was expecting his apology to be accepted, and to have the conversation maneuvered tactfully around his wound until the gears kicked in and they could continue like nothing had been wrong.

He did not expect Aria to lean into his shoulder with a chuckle, nor for her to laugh and say, "Well, what are friends for?"

 _Yes_ , he thought, as his face burned hotter than the warmth pressed up against him, _friends_.

They spent that night carefully visiting Phantom's memories of Raven, and later of Yasmine and Kaa. Aria did not look at all let down by what he'd ever done, or did she have any words to rebuke him. He didn't think anyone could ever empathize, and yet here was Aria, understanding why he hurt and why he did what he did. She felt her anger for the same reasons he felt his, and he swore he saw her wrist come away wet when she dashed it across her eyes at his retelling of the explosion in the slums.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, over and over, as though it had been her fault just because she was Empress of the world and he was not.

How could it be possible for a person like her to exist?

Phantom swore he would protect her from the injustice of the world. He was all too eager to relieve some of the weight of her responsibilities, almost insisting that she shared them with him. "Oh, so you're a spy now, hmm?" she'd remarked, but relented without waiting for an answer or a response.

She told him of the war, of her plans and what she hoped would result. They were so lofty that she might as well have been a child loudly declaring, _I wish for world peace!_ and it'd amount to just the same. As much as he hated her naivety, he saw a little bit of himself in there, too — a small child lost in a cruel world, wanting to change it for the better and being too tightly bound by his circumstances that he could do nothing at all.

Unlike him, Aria _could_ do something, and she was doing it magnificently. Phantom reminded her about that every time they met on the balcony, and he was perplexed as to why Aria could draw strength from that. From _him_. He was, after all, a mere thief. What would he know of politics and the ways of other races, lands, or peoples?

Still, Aria continued her blind faith in a crooked thief and so Phantom tried his best to protect her in any way he knew how. They'd given up waiting for nightfall before they met. It was almost as if time were running faster now, hurtling them towards an inevitable end that they were both certain they wanted to avoid, but had no idea how. Now Phantom just kept his ship carefully hovering just beyond the magic seals of the palace, keeping vigil in the treasury so he would have clear view of the slender figure that emerged onto the balcony, face tilted to spot him.

She wouldn't be able to, he'd explained to her before, but that didn't stop her from trying.

It had been one of those beautiful summer afternoons when the sky was irresistibly blue, so stark and alluring that Phantom had to constantly battle the impulse to reach his hand out to touch. Not a single cloud hovered to remind him of how far away he was, even while he stood separated by glass and confined to his flying ship. It was a color he'd come to grow extremely affectionate for, and as he marveled at the endlessness of the sky, he realised he was thinking about Aria's smile, the way her eyes shone with her love for the world.

Ah, so he really was a doomed man.

The clear night skies of onyx and its flecks of silver paint, though nowhere near as breathtaking as the summer skies. Aria was out on her balcony again, a signal for his entrance.

He selected a rose from the many in the vase he'd set out just for them, and held up a card to leave.

"Who's there?" came Aria's gasp, as he materialized on her balcony.

It was just a formality now. It still was something that gave structure to their increasingly chaotic world, and they refused to stop their little games of show and tell, hide and seek.

"Don't tell me you've been out here waiting for me all night."

She looked so tired, and yet still so magnificent in the moonlight. "Should I call a guard? You know I won't hand over our treasure no matter how charming you may be."

Phantom hopped spryly off the banisters and allowed himself a grin of his own. "Charming? Why, you're finally coming to your senses!"

He expected more friendly banter, another jibe at his ego, something to put him in his place, but all Aria had to offer in reply was, "There will be a conference here, in Ereve. I've invited an envoy from the Black Mage… I'm hoping for a favorable response so we can negotiate our terms of peace."

Phantom had heard of this maleficent name too many times. And that evil was the reason why it was harder and harder to see Aria's expression lift nowadays, when she sacrificed her nights of sleep for him and when the worry scoured such ugly lines across her brow. He almost had to _work_ to think up new card tricks and shiny baubles of magic before he could put the smile back on her face.

He heard the weariness in her voice and instinctively walked forward, hoping for more elaboration, a sign that she'd be alright… anything. Anything at all.

Aria was silent for a long while. Breathlessly, Phantom waited, strung so tight it felt like a single word from her would send him reeling.

The Empress of Maple World was silent, and she had been spent. He edged closer cautiously, desperate not to tip the delicate balance of whatever was stacked up against her.

Aria, as she always did, was smiling. She had never once let the smile fade from her face when she had to be strong, and now was no exception. Phantom could see how tight her lips were pulled, how her eyes were cold — maybe even afraid? —and Phantom absolutely detested seeing her speaking so collectedly when he knew how it felt to have sins upon sins stacked against him.

"You'll give yourself crows feet," he murmured instead, pulling out his new card trick — the golden card shattering like stained glass and falling around her feet, only to float up like embers and reform the soft petals of the crimson rose. Aria blinked, delighted, her face going slack for just a moment, and Phantom realised how much he'd needed to see that.

"So concerned? I'll be upfront, then. Hope you don't have an ulterior motive," she accepted the rose and the welcome change of topic, cradling it gently to her chest, the most precious thing that she had and would ever own.

"I hope not, too. I just thought to tell you," he purred close to her ear, breaking into a smile when she squirmed, his breath ghosting ticklish across the shell of her ear. "I prefer a woman with a _smile_ on her face."

Aria's eyes widened. He realised belatedly that he might've come across as picky, or shallow, for dictating the kind of women he preferred to spend his company with. He was just about to explain himself when Aria laughed, an open and melodious sound, and gave him a _genuine_ smile of her own. Not that painful, forced excuse for one.

She stepped forward and carded her fingers between his, and he wondered what he'd done to deserve such a perfect woman.

They wasted the rest of their night away, learning the feel of each other's bodies against their own, singing inane ballads of life and loves and lost loves and lost lives. Aria led him around the balcony in a dance under the moonlight and he was all too happy to sway with her, enjoying the sound of a fragile melody caressing her gentle breaths. He moved when she let her lead, sneakily crooking his arm so she would have to shift closer to him, though she didn't seem to mind. The night seemed like it might've gone on forever if they only kept their minds on the _now_ hard enough.

And so _Aria_ began to consume his every waking thought. For that brief period of his weary life, Phantom was perfectly and utterly content. He'd thought it'd be much harder give up his dreams of a better world but here, with Aria in his arms, there was no need for anything more.

How could he dare to ask for anything more? She was a miracle of her own. She had a strange, frightening ability to _wonder_ and to _hope_ in such unbelievable proportions that she made the entire world seem worth saving.

"Even me?" he'd said with a playful smirk, leading her on into what he knew were dark and dangerous waters.

"Yes, Phantom. Even you."

Phantom probed, "Even the nobles of Ariant? Even those who discriminate, and those who cheat and lie?"

Aria had sighed, and squeezed his hand where it was intertwined with hers. "They can only change if they've been given second chances, wouldn't you say, Master Thief?"

Her words struck him speechless. Phantom had looked away, and Aria had let him keep his silance. It was a little off-putting that she'd be siding with the people who had caused so much grievous hurt, but as he watched her tell him about the farmers in Henesys, the novice mages of Ellinia, the toyworkers in Ludibrium, and what they could bring to make a better world — what Phantom himself could offer for that world she was dreaming of — he couldn't help but be swayed, just a little.

No way he was admitting that, though.

It was something like a smack to the face when Phantom landed on her balcony in the middle of the night, and she did not greet him. She didn't feign surprise or indignation, and instead stared down at a blushing rose in her palms as though it would lend her some insight on what she should do for her world.

"Phantom," she whispered, as though fearing her voice would shatter something she wanted to keep, "What do you think about becoming a hero?"

Phantom blinked, unsure of how to deal with this strange, pensive Aria. Staring out at the fireflies amidst the grass, she looked small and lonely. It didn't suit her at all.

He walked up to her, resting his hand palm up on the banister. "Hero? What's a hero?"

"It's… just what the people call them. You might've seen them."

"Care to elaborate?"

Aria glanced sidelong at him, a tiny grin taking its place on her lips. Her eyes were alight but with a different kind of fire. Whoever these 'Heroes' were, they meant the world to her. "It's impossible for me to explain right now… I don't have the words," she admitted, sheepishly tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "One of them described it best as _being called to fight against the darkness_. And I guess that's as close as it gets."

"Hmm… What could a righteous hero possibly want out of a crook like me?"

Aria smiled down absently at the rose. She looked so beautiful that she could truly rival the moon. "I think they'd… need… your help."

Phantom wanted to laugh and snort at the same time, and he ended up making some ugly noise that had Aria turning to him in confusion. "Wait, did you spend all this time trying to win me over? To recruit me as one of your heroes?"

"No!" she said petulantly, a flicker of her old self back.

Ah, now it was safe to let himself a grin. "Then what's the matter? I'm fine as I am. There's no need for heroics. We can continue our secret rendezvous, night after night, and I will try my best to undo whatever scowls you have collected over the course of your day."

He was, as he said, fine with his life like this. His days were aimless but his nights gave him strength. He was becoming Truly Nocturnal, just like a proper thief, and he had never felt better about himself. (That was definitely a quirk of Aria's that he'd picked up, the whole capital letter thing. Not that he minded very much.)

Besides, he'd sworn off the idea of saving the world. Such thoughts didn't sit well with him any more. He knew how the slightest of errors could wipe out the lives of countless innocents. Losing something close to him was also something he was, unfortunately, intimately familiar with, and not something he wanted to approach with a ten-foot pole. He was done with such a life, and he knew the world would see no good being led by half-hearted idealists as himself.

"I'm much happier like this. Living without having anyone or anything tied to me," he continued, when Aria didn't reply. "It's not just about the fame, or the glory. It's not even about justice any more. It's about… living freely."

Ah, yes, that was it.

"It's about being free from the past. Being free from the things and people around you."

After all, Aria had unlocked the cage that he'd slowly built up for himself over the years. Now he had no intention of returning. He had faced the harshest sun for half his life and lived the other half in libraries without it, and now he was here, constantly embraced by starlight and by the woman his dreams never knew about.

Becoming a hero meant that he might have to give it all up, one day, and he wasn't sure if he could do it again.

Aria let out a little sigh. When she spoke, her voice was free from judgment, though Phantom had long learned that Aria had little of that for anyone, not even the worst criminals.

"Ah, _freedom_ … That's… that's right," she mused, and then said half to herself, "That's… you."

Phantom meant to ask her what that meant, but Aria slipped her hand into his and tugged him away from the banisters.

"Come on," she urged playfully, and when Phantom hesitated, she actually ventured a pout. "Don't waste my time, Master Thief! I'm a very busy woman!"

"Alright, alright. What would you like to do?"

"Absolutely nothing." She gave a sharp yank that had him stumbling close, and reached up with her free hand to lift the raven mask and hat off his head.

It was the first time she'd seen him without his hat. The mask did a good job of that by obscuring part of his face in shadow. Aria held his hat up triumphantly, like a trophy, and beamed.

"You really are as charming as they say."

It was now or never, he supposed.

He raised his other hand and traced the perfect curve of her jaw. "And you are more beautiful than the reports and declarations make you out to be."

She snickered, turning her head slightly to glance at up through her lashes. Now that wasn't fair, she knew what that did to him.

"Are you after the Skaia today, Master Thief?" she asked, and Phantom felt his heart soar. Now here was something familiar he could deal with. He was embarrassed to admit, but he'd practiced this in front of the mirror.

Just a couple of times more than necessary.

"Hmm… No, no I don't think so." He leaned in and Aria gasped, surprised, as their noses touched. Hers was slightly cold after being nipped by the twilight chill for so long.

"Then?" she breathed.

"I'm after a different kind of treasure now," he purred, as the most beautiful shades of rose bloomed across her cheeks.

She'd gone so tongue-tied that she couldn't do anything but clutch at his uniform, eyes tightly clenched as she stuttered about how _unfair_ that was. He wasn't the one who started it, he retorted, but Aria had _lots_ to say about that, and they easily used up the rest of their time trying to prove who deserved the win just a little more.

When the first rays of dawn pierced the sky, Phantom was far from ready to leave. Even a while after that, when streaks of gold and amber began to bleed across the clouds, Aria still clutched at his hand so tightly.

In the end, it was Aria who pulled away first, because she had always been the stronger of them both.

"I will see you this evening, after the conference." Her words faltered slightly, the curl of her sentence making it a question rather than statement of fact.

"You will." Phantom bowed, and Aria giggled as she helped put his hat back on. It felt slightly off-kilter, but he could deal with it. "Now stop talking like it's the end of the world. Go."

Aria rolled her eyes and made for the door. Phantom climbed on the banisters, standing tall and waiting for her to vanish before he left. As she parted the silken curtain to return to her study, the Empress cast another look over her shoulder.

Phantom beamed.

Aria looked grand and resplendent, her smile softening the corners of her eyes. The gold of sunrise seeped into the folds of her silken robe, lifting her entire form like an angel without wings. Light rippled on the gilded surfaces of her jewelry, the ornate headband and the shell-shaped pendant nestled in the crook of her collarbones. She was strength and tenderness combined, and Phantom knew that she was going to be alright.

She gave him one last small wave, and then she was gone.

Phantom stood there, soaking up the heat from the sun, feeling the chilly touch of her nose against his, stealing a little bit more time because he wanted to. And only after he felt he could stand no more did he return to his ship, and sleep, because the days were not his to rule.

The whip-like crack of lightning searing the air next woke him. It was raining, an endless cacophony of tears streaming down from weeping angels. Phantom rubbed his eyes and pushed himself to his feet. It was nighttime; he'd slept through the entire day. It had to be just after sundown, even though it was so dark out. He couldn't have been too late just yet.

There was a sandwich waiting for him on his desk. He ate while he changed, thankful that Aria learned to leave the door unlocked after he'd invited himself in, out of another downpour, and given her a scare so bad she banned him for two days. (It was merely one of their silly games, and he was back the immediate day after. No ban could restrain him.)

"Time to call your guards again," he called as he teleported onto the balcony and then quickly slid into her study, swiping most of the rain off his uniform.

Her study was empty. Resting in its vase on the mantle was the last rose he'd given to her, wilting slightly after the day's heat.

Something nagged at him at the back of his mind. Aria was never late. A lifetime of meetings and conferences gave her an uncanny sense of when exactly they'd end. Maybe negotiations with the Black Mage just too time consuming.

Phantom sat at her desk sulkily and settled down to wait.

It was only when he heard the loud, cheery voice of an unfamiliar girl that he stood up to investigate. Carefully masking himself so he'd remain undetectable from the surrounding marble, he edged to the balcony and peeked out. It was indeed a young girl talking, and she sported two pigtails that made her look adorable if not for what she was talking about.

They were both dressed in black uniform with fine gold trim. Same with their hats, though Phantom could not make out the insignia printed there from this angle.

"Ora already told you, Suu. You should've let Orca play."

"She was boring." Her companion, the boy called Suu, replied flatly.

Phantom's blood curdled. Surely not —

"No excuse! Orca wanted a turn! Suu promised!"

The boy stopped walking, as though sensing something amiss. He glanced up towards the balcony, but by that time Phantom had already made himself scarce.

Aria was never late.

Phantom was.

He tore across the paved pathways, sprinting past pavilions and statues of knights and kings.

"Aria?"

How cruel. How wretchedly cruel.

The rain continued to fall, as apathetic as the stars, as he ran on and on. He didn't pay heed to the rain, or how the hedges caught on his cape, or how the lingering wisps of smoke in the air singed his lungs as he fought for breath.

He didn't know when he lost his mask. The world passed in a blur as the scoured the subcontinent, following the trail of wreckage that was now evident. Trampled flowers and cracked stone tiles, scorched marks across the ground where a vicious magic had clawed and left no survivors.

"Aria!"

There was only one place left to look. He rushed heedlessly into the magic barrier where Shinsoo slept, realizing with a sickening jolt that the elaborate shield had been reduced to a mockery of magic fragments worth nothing at all.

The mighty divine creature strained at the sound of his frantic footsteps, and could only muster the strength to open her eyes just a fraction.

He stumbled to a halt when he saw her, broken and unmoving, in the crook of Shinsoo's arm.

"Ah…"

Aria.

 _Phantom_ , groaned Shinsoo, her magic reverberating around his skull, forming words. _They planned on murdering her since the beginning._

He fell to his knees before the Empress, and the great winged beast shifted her ruined wing for him. Cruel, darkened chains trapped Shinsoo's body, wicked spikes jutting out from her soft feathers, and yet the creature summoned the last of her strength so Aria's body was still dry, untouched by the rain.

 _The conference… it was a lie_.

If Phantom didn't know better he'd think the Empress was merely taking a nap, and she'd wake up if he called her name long enough. She'd gave up so many of her nights to meet him, and now she was finally taking the breather she deserved, and catching up on all the sleep she'd missed.

She looked peaceful, dreaming of the world she loved so dearly, but Phantom felt her blood seeping through his gloves and he couldn't help wondering how much she'd suffered in her last moments alone.

"W… Wake up, Aria."

He reached out and pulled her close, crushing her in his arms. Her skin was still warm, and the faint scent of roses lingered over the harsh iron of blood.

Her body felt so much smaller than he remembered. She'd always commanded so much _more_ than what she'd left behind. Especially when she'd put him back together and made him whole again. How was he supposed to live on like this, when Aria had stolen away a piece of his soul and would never be able to return it?

"Aria… you were fine this morning. Open your eyes."

His fingers dug into his petite, still form, and came away red wherever he touched. He fought the instinct to grip her shoulders and shake her and wrestle her back to the land of the living. All he did was hold her close, because he hadn't been able to do that ever before. Maybe a foolish part of him was hoping that her spirit would feel his frantic touches and be calmed by it.

Maybe he was the only one who knew about this conference, as Aria would've stood a fighting chance if she'd been watched by bodyguards. Maybe it'd be able to convey how pathetically sorry he was for being late, for not being there for her when she'd done so much for him.

"Open your eyes, Aria."

Or maybe it was something deeper, something more selfish than any of that — maybe he needed her like he hadn't needed anything else before, and now she was gone.

"Please, Aria. P-Please…!"

She had taught him the value of coming to terms with his past. No, _she_ had come to terms with his past, and accepted them without restraint. Aria made him feel like everything he'd done was _worth_ something, even if it amounted to nothing in the end. It was just like him to think about everything in terms of gains and losses, really — but Aria had truly been the single most valuable treasure he had ever hoped to set his eyes on.

And he knew _he_ had been a treasure of her own, too, even past the whimsical card tricks and gratuitous self-praise, she'd treated him like a gem all of his own. Even though he'd been shattered and put together in haphazard ways, in ways that didn't make sense. Aria was the first person to let Phantom simply be whoever he wanted to be, whoever he was, without demanding any more or less.

 _Phantom…_ Shinsoo shifted, and Phantom blearily lifted his eyes to meet hers. _There is something she wanted to give you._

Right on cue, something clinked on the ground beside Aria's feet, catching residual fragments of moonlight. It was a gleaming, crimson pendant on a golden chain, surrounded by a band of ornate carvings.

The Skaia.

Sight of the gem made his entire body tremble. He remembered, in a rush, that fateful moment when he decided that he'd steal it from her. He'd sworn that he'd make Aria hand it to him without a fight. And here it was. He'd succeeded.

And yet it was all so futile, so futile.

He carefully wrapped his fingers around the gem, feeling the familiar cut of a jewel's edge against his skin. An errant thought flickered in his mind.

He'd asked her for the Skaia, but she'd asked him to become a Hero, hadn't she?

The rain continued to fall. It sounded so far away. He continued to kneel, chilled by the endless rain and merciless night gales and the body going cold in his arms.

 _Phantom, what do you think about becoming a Hero?_

He clutched Aria's lifeless body to him a little tighter. Just what had she seen in him, that she would personally ask for him to join her cause? He was just a thief, a frivolous thief that hated facing the consequence of his actions, and preferred believing that the good days would never end.

 _I think they'd need your help._

These heroes wouldn't _want_ his help. They'd fling the wanted posters and newspaper reports into his face and banish him from Ereve faster than he could say _Aria said so!_

But he wondered how many of them had seen the sensitive, hopeful Aria that had so willingly opened herself up to him. She was just like a rose that only blossomed in the moonlight, under the gentle touches of someone who had all the patience and not a care in the world. How many of them would've truly understood her motivations?

Who else would possibly know what Aria's visions for peace encompassed? How they involved embracing the bad as well as the good, the lies as well as the truth? No warrior or critic worth their salt would truly understand the innocence and whole-hearted love that Aria had for the world.

Aria's peace was too pure and too simple that it didn't belong here. And maybe this was just the universe's way of righting itself again, protecting the values of truth and passion before they became marred.

"A hero, huh," he whispered bitterly into her hair, suddenly aware of the weight growing on his shoulders, at the burden that he had chosen to take upon himself.

It wasn't fair, constantly having to be someone's last hope.

Phantom had done this one too many times, and the resignation stirring in the pit of his stomach was all but a familiar, old friend by now.

He pulled away from Aria, who was now very cold and very light, and returned her to her final place against the body of her divine guardian. Tenderly, he rubbed away a final smear of blood from the corner of Aria's lip, deciding that maybe a woman who didn't smile could look just as fine as one who did.

The moon and the stars were out of sight, but they were there, just as Aria had said. Phantom knew they were watching as he struggled onto one knee, clenched his right hand into a fist and held it over his heart. He knew that somewhere, out there, they'd be listening too.

"Your world is safe with me, Aria."

The Empress' most loyal subject reached out to take her hand, ignoring the blood crusting over her skin as he placed a gentle kiss there. And there the two stayed like that for a long while, the Master Thief shaking from the intensity of his weeping, so much so he couldn't muster the strength to move.

"I will fight for you."

Aria was taken away from the world too soon, but Phantom would stay in her stead.

"Aria…"


	5. The Master Thief, Phantom

He staggered back the way he came, too tired to use his teleport spell just yet. He collected his hat from where it'd been snared in some outreaching branches. It was from under the shadow of this raven mask that he watched Aria's funeral, hidden partially out of sight by of one of the huge statues in Ereve. It was held, aptly, in the clearing where Shinsoo would normally rest. They'd guided the mystical beast over to a more sheltered clearing, where medics were tending to her round the clock. Soldiers and knights gathered in tight formation, while the ones whom Aria had called 'Heroes' gathered at the front of the procession to say their goodbyes.

Phantom had been right. All they had to offer were hollow words and cheap replicas of the hopes that Aria had for the world. Why she'd kept all that beautiful innocence to herself was beyond him.

He watched, dry-eyed and unsatisfied, and left before they began to mourn.

When night fell, so did the compulsion to grab his mask and cane and head down to her balcony. He felt his mood lifting at the thought — he so needed Aria to cheer him up, needed to see her smile, after the long tumultuous day he'd had — and then remembered it all with a crash of despair.

Thoughts of the two blond children rose to frequently to mind. He'd never seen their uniforms in all the land. They were probably part of the Black Mage's forces. For them to take advantage of the chance that Aria had given them, and to spit on it and grind it under their heels, it was unforgivable. Phantom knew the value of those chances, and he would make them pay for desecrating one granted by such an innocent soul as Aria. He'd do the same to those bastards what they did to his precious Aria.

He was filled with such unspeakable rage. It wrecked him from the inside. How could he have lost another thing dear to him once more? How could he have allowed it to happen?

Desperately, he tore at every single thing that glittered on Raven's ship. He was strong now, far stronger than he'd ever been, and his anguish fuelled him and lent him the strength he needed to destroy entire blocks of gold, grind precious gems to worthless powder. All the wealth in the world and he was still the poorest man he'd ever known, unable to hold onto anything of worth before it was taken away from him again.

It had been a long time coming, but now Phantom was struck with the entirety of the truth. It'd been his hotheadedness that had destroyed his old home. And instead of him, Raven had been the one to pay the price. Raven was the one thinking ahead, while Phantom merely blundered around doing whatever he pleased, with a foolish belief that his actions wouldn't amount to anything. And now the man was gone, and Phantom was here, lost and floundering in his absence. The man didn't deserve what he'd gotten, and neither did his family.

Phantom could've avoided it in its entirety.

With Raven's cards and Raven's cane, with the frustration that Kaa and Yasmine had taught him, with the mercilessness of the Duke and the savagery of the nobles, he ravaged the ship and singlehandedly destroyed everything that reminded him of what he had become.

Just barely, he stopped himself from smashing the porcelain vase and the roses it held, cheap little gifts for a woman who deserved the world and more.

His cane clattered on the ground, and he fell to his knees, defeated.

Everyone he ever loved, and everyone who ever loved him, was gone. The void in his soul was so deep and so great that Phantom knew it would never heal over again.

It was a long while more before he allowed Giles to help him up and continue living, and even longer before he was satisfied with the tarot card in his hands. He wasn't much of an artist, and it'd taken a lot of magic and a lot of reject cards before he was finally satisfied.

He took up his cane and donned his cape, fit his hat and raven mask on his head, and regarded his reflection in the mirror.

Perfect.

It was child's play to locate the Dragon Master Freud's house in Leafre. Phantom was oddly satisfied to notice how simple and spartan it was, jarring with the magnificence with which the mage carried himself. He was showing his entire hand to this one Hero, betting on his scholarly exploits to gain the man's trust enough for a temporary truce.

After all, only a scholar would know that it was perfectly logical to be driven by the illogicality of love.

After much careful planning to avoid the huge dragon, he eventually landed on the dragon master's windowsill with the cold touch of moonlight on his neck. He helped himself into the house, drawing his one card and letting it spin idly on the tip of his finger as he patiently waited. The moonlight caught on the polished surface of the card, fracturing into a myriad of pastel gems.

It was slightly amusing, seeing Freud work away at his tomes with such a comical frown on his features.

The sight made him think of Aria, though not for long.

Only after a shard of color darted across Freud's desk did Freud's attention finally break. Phantom was pleased at the brief flicker of surprise and shock that passed across the man's face. It was schooled in an instant, but when one tangoed with Aria, one learned to celebrate the small victories.

He didn't move or say a word as Freud pushed his chair and stood, his footfalls heavy on the rickety wooden boards as he walked over.

"If the rumoured Phantom thief wants to help save Maple world, he is most welcome to do so."

Phantom was surprised. Freud's voice was young, barely a man in his prime. Perhaps younger than Phantom himself, even. And yet here Phantom was, gambling away his future on this one man. Still, Aria had staked her name on the Heroes, and he was their leader, after all — if Aria had faith in him, he should learn to give some of his own, too.

Freud had clearly been expecting him. Phantom wasn't too surprised. He'd be more disappointed if Freud hadn't been prepared.

"But first," ah yes, the inevitable catch, "Pray tell what purpose guides your decision."

The man looked up, and Phantom stared evenly into his eyes. They were blue, like Aria's — but deep like the oceans while Aria's was vast like the skies. Freud's gaze locked on the spinning card on his finger, gleaming with a steady will that was yearning to understand; it was a refreshing change from the shaky terror that always lurked in a noble's gaze. He would do.

Phantom focused, touching on one of the bowmaster's skills. The wind listened to his call, and breathed in through the window, taking the card and depositing it carefully, respectfully at Freud's feet.

"Because of this?" Freud mused, as he lowered himself to one knee and extended a gloved hand to pick it up.

It only took a single moment before realization dawned on the scholar's expression, and a knowing smile spread across his face.

Phantom's first instinct was to retreat into frustration once more. Was Freud making light of the truth Phantom had revealed through that card? It was showy, but it conveyed what no words could ever say. It was a mural of the two of _them_ , as angels, immortalized in that one sliver of paper forever. Their hands were clasped and their faces so, so close — the last dance that Phantom would always remember a little too vividly.

"So you went to steal something and got something stolen from you instead." Freud murmured, without a trace of pity or scorn in his voice, and it soothed Phantom's bristling at once.

When Freud lowered the card, Phantom couldn't help seeing a fragment of hope in those eyes. It was one that Aria surely saw in herself, too. And even Phantom saw a younger, less hardened version of himself there, with lofty dreams of changing the world.

Yes, Aria had chosen the perfect leader for her cause.

So perhaps not all hope was lost just yet.

"Alright, my friend," declared Freud after a boyish, lopsided grin, "Let's help each other out. I expect a lot from you." With surprising accuracy, Freud tossed the card back. Phantom snatched it out of the air with a tight smirk. The man's eagerness was contagious, and Phantom couldn't help simmer in the prospect of what was to come.

Of course Freud expected a lot of him. Everyone did. He was the Master Thief, after all.

And now Phantom had a lot more to _give_ , too.

"A thief becoming a hero…" he murmured, half to himself, half to everyone he was doing this for, and gods he hoped they were somewhere out there, listening to him deliver this crappy, clichéd line like _change_ was the only thing he truly owned, "That's not too shabby, right?"

With nothing more needing to be said between the two of them, Phantom let the card in his hand shatter in his grasp, the fragments fluttering away like butterflies. Freud's eyes were momentarily drawn to the shimmer of light in his hand. And that was all Phantom needed. A swift tug of his cape and a rush of cards later, he was back standing proud on the bow of the Lumiere.

Bathed in the light of a waning crescent moon, Phantom turned his sights on the sprawling, crooked world below. He was familiar with its slimy underbellies and the crimes that hid beneath plush carpets. He'd seen first hand how the bereft could be lifted to far greater heights. He'd seen what love could do, what hate could do, and how love sometimes won the battle.

Yes, now he knew how to play his cards just right, and win.

The real show had only just begun.


End file.
